Shakespeare

Because he was actually an Arab, fleeing from persecution in Morocco. Not many people know he was a very wealthy tribal chieftain with a vast palace just outside Fez. His real name was Sheikh Bilaam al-Spir, chieftain of the Spirian tribe, oppressed by the Grand Khalifa, Mustafa Kamel, who envied al-Spir his wealth, lands, and harem. When he was given safe passage to England, he converted to Christianity and took up the more acceptable name of Shakespeare. The 'Bilaam' had become 'Bill' to his friends, so he adopted the more formal 'William' for his play-writing, remaining just 'Bill' at the taverns. He based Shylock in The Merchant of Venice on the wicked Grand Khalifa, it is thought. However, he wrote all of his works first in Old North Arabic, translating as best he could, hence some of the slightly high-flown phraseology. I hope that helps?
 
walsworth said:
Oh bugger, I thought he was drunk!
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Hence:

Is this a lager which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? Or art thou but
A lager of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
 
On the subject of his dog:

Portia: "The collie pup of Shylock's is not trained;
It droppeth hairs like gentle rain from Heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice a mess:
It messeth when it comes and also when it goes."
 
I must confess a certain fondness for the beautifully understated last words of Polonius. I imagine that I would be altogether more forthcoming with verbal viciousness.
 
I know what you mean, Simmo. Few things are more moving than his eulogy:

"Oh! Oh! All aims of high society do fly!
Few things could me more embarrass!
For Hamlet, mad with love and hate,
Has stabbed me through the arras!"
 
According to Jilly Cooper the Bowdlerised version of Othello was almost as much fun:

She played the trumpet in my bed ...
 
Oh come on.. this one's quite good.

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate:
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me, to whom thou gavest it, else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgment making.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.



 
spaceegg said:
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,
And like enough thou know'st thy estimate:
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me, to whom thou gavest it, else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgment making.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a king, but waking no such matter.
Click to expand...

Loosely translated?:

F*ck off! You're way too expensive for me.
You're big-headed
Even for yourself.
There's only so much sh*te I can take.
You're a pure tease.
Why me?
I'm desperate.
I'm f*cking off myself.
You used to be cheap.
Or maybe it was me.
You kept quiet about that.
That'll teach you.
You fair took me to the cleaners.
I feel totally screwed.

(Maybe he was pissed in more ways than one.)
 
Fantastico, Dessie! Do you remember waaay back, maybe it was even on Ch.4, where some of us did a 'modern Shakespeare' bit, and PDJ came up with "Yo, Romeo, back off my bitch, befo' I pop a cap in yo ass?" If one can decipher him, then one realises not much, if anything, changes in human relationships down the centuries.
 
Desert Orchid said:
Loosely translated?:

F*ck off! You're way too expensive for me.
You're big-headed
Even for yourself.
There's only so much sh*te I can take.
You're a pure tease.
Why me?
I'm desperate.
I'm f*cking off myself.
You used to be cheap.
Or maybe it was me.
You kept quiet about that.
That'll teach you.
You fair took me to the cleaners.
I feel totally screwed.

(Maybe he was pissed in more ways than one.)
Click to expand...

I was always a fan of Miss Cooper. I read Riders at a very impressionable age ; )

Farewell! Your love is too costly
As you are well aware
Your title deeds will be returned to you
My investment in you was limited
By what you chose to offer me
And did I even deserve that?
I gave you no reason to gift yourself to me
You gave freely, not recognising your own value
Or mistaking me, your legatee, for better than I am
And you doubting, realising how great your gift had been
Rethinking, took it back.
When I had you it was fantasy,
When you left, reality.
 
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