Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Twelfth Night Or What You Will
I remember reading this one in college. We read it for a required course called "Chaucer, Shakespeare & Milton." Christopher someone or other was the name of the professor. I can't remember his last name. He was British and very informal in his teaching. We often arranged our desks in a circle for discussions. He would never stand in the center of the circle. He always sat in a chair among the students. I guess this was an attempt to break down the barrier between student and teacher. I liked him, and he seemed to like me, though I never got close to him. I remember he came up for tenure during my junior or senior year and didn't get it and then he left and that was that.
from Twelfth Night Or What You Will
If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken and so die.
That strain again! It had a dying fall;
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more;
'T is not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou!
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical.