Methinks Shakespeare stinketh not, as I heretofore thought.
If, perchance, a small while ago, thou hadst asked of me what I thought of said renowned bard, I doubt, forsooth, that I wouldst have given mine approval. Shakespeare hath not much pleased me, nor have I enjoyed the learning of his plays. His dramas have always seemed dramatic overmuch, and his comedies have not touched upon my humor. If 'twere not enough, all his plays are scribed in "ye olde English", with nary so much as a footnote hither and thither to guide thee along the path. 'Tis not much unclear, methinks, wherefore I have not quite found his plays to be of that enjoyable mold, and have rather regarded them with somewhat of disdain.
However, I find Shakespeare groweth on my taste.
Nay, I should specify the aforementioned statement. I find not Shakespeare's Hamlet to be of unenjoyable quality, in sooth, I am finding that I, verily, enjoy it. Verily. Take not this statement in a light manner. As afore remarked, I have been one of the many, I daresay, who findeth not Shakespeare to their liking. Yet, as I read through Hamlet in mine English Literature class, I discover that, perhaps, I have been wrong about how Shakespeare stinketh. Hamlet seemeth to contain a vast horde of insight into the human mind. A exceedingly vast trove of insight, such that as I read I find mine own wonderings and doubts spoken by the characters. A remarkable feeling, mind you, to find thine own thoughts written by another. Such insight I have found in no other place, excepting the Bible. If such wondrous knowledge were not enough, the book hath managed to hold my interest with its surprising suspense, a feat that, were I remembering correctly, no other Shakespearean play hath managed to perform. Ergo, Shakespeare hath redeemed himself by his writing such an impressive work.
Verily, this post hath not been overly facile to compose. My speculation saith that 'twill not be easily read, either.
But, forsooth, this exercise in "ye olde English" hath been quite entertaining.
3 comments:
Yea, dear sire of mine near kin. Thy post be not for the fair hearted. 'twas a frightening battle not of swords and shields to decipher thy scribes...
Thy cousin,
Lady R.W.
Verily, those of a faint heart shouldst beware of aforementioned olde vocabulary, Lady R.W. Mine thanks be bestowed upon thee for thine excellent statement.
Forsooth.
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