Monday, May 14, 2012
Love's Labour's Lost
This is one of the few plays that I have neither read nor seen performed. I think I had soured on Kenneth Branagh by the time he'd adapted it to film. Thus, as I was typing out the title this morning I learned for the first time that the second word in the title, in addition to taking the British spelling variant, also takes a strange apostrophe at the end. I'd always thought it was "Love's Labour Lost." I guess it means Love's Labour IS Lost, which amounts to nearly the same thing.
Boy, there's lots of Shakespeare left on the shelf. Will it continue to yield interesting things for me to say for the next several weeks? I suppose it will depend on the play. The ones I've read should all generate some memories or ideas. Alas, this one has left me feeling a bit like the last of the three Ls in the title. That is, "lost."
Pretty good opening lines, though...
from Love's Labour's Lost
Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,
Live register'd upon our brazen tombs
And then grace us in the disgrace of death;
When, spite of cormorant devouring Time,
The endeavor of this present breath may buy
That honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge
And make us heirs of all eternity.