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Random William Shakespeare
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Random William Shakespeare Sonnet 57: Being your slave, what should I do but tend ORIGINAL TEXT no fear Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all spend, Nor services do, till you require. Nor dare I chide the world without end hour Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, Nor think the bitterness of absence sour When you have bid your servant once adieu. Nor dare I question with my jealous thought Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought Save, where you are, how happy you make those. So true a fool is love that in your will, Though you do anything, he thinks no ill. MODERN TEXT Since I’m your slave, what else should I do but wait on the hours, and for the times when you’ll want me? I don’t have any valuable time spend, or any services do, until you need me. Nor do I dare complain about how agonizingly long the hours are while I watch the clock for you, my king, or how bitter your absence is after you’ve said goodbye your servant. Nor do I dare ask jealous questions about where you might be, or speculate about your affairs, but like a sad slave I sit still and think about nothing except how happy you’re making whomever you’re with. Love makes a person such a faithful fool that no matter what you do satisfy your desires, he doesn’t think you’ve done anything wrong. HAMLET Act 3 Scene 1 be, or not be? That is the question— Whether ’tis nobler in the mind suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 60Or take arms against a sea of troubles, And, by opposing, end them? die, sleep— No more—and by a sleep say we end The heartache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir —’tis a consummation 65Devoutly be wished! die, sleep. sleep, perchance dream—ay, there’s the rub, For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. There’s the respect 70That makes calamity of so long life. modern text The question is: is it better be alive or dead? Is it nobler put up with all the nasty things that luck throws your way, or fight against all those troubles by simply putting an end them once and for all? Dying, sleeping—that’s all dying is—a sleep that ends all the heartache and shocks that life on earth gives us—that’s an achievement wish for. die, sleep— sleep, maybe dream. Ah, but there’s the catch: in death’s sleep who knows what kind of dreams might come, after we’ve put the noise and commotion of life behind us. That’s certainly something worry about. That’s the consideration that makes us stretch out our sufferings so long. |
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Perchance to dream?
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