But that is, and it would explain a lot

The Bee again.

1 comment:

E Hines said...

Is this a dagger 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 dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?
...
It is the bloody business which informs
Thus to mine eyes


And then

Out, damned spot! out, I say!--One: two: why,
then, 'tis time to do't.--Hell is murky!--Fie, my
lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need we
fear who knows it, when none can call our power to
account?--Yet who would have thought the [thirteen]
to have had so much blood in [them].


Alternatively,

Who is it that can tell me who I am?

And then his man Susan Rice:

The weight of this sad time we must obey;
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath borne most: we that are young
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.



Who knew we were trapped in a play, with a critical player in his last scene, Is second childishness and mere oblivion.

Eric Hines