Friday, June 1, 2012

Aimless Reading: The S's, Part 19.27 (William Shakespeare)

Richard the Third
Shakespeare, William
Richard the Third

I saw this performed in Central Park many moons ago, with Denzel Washington starring in the title role. I don't think I read the play until I bought this set, however.

I am having difficulty thinking this morning because of my daughter. She's not making noise. She's not even in the room. It's because over the past few days Lori and I have been showing her videos on YouTube featuring alphabet songs in different languages and now I have those songs stuck in my head.

This morning's song is a French alphabet song sung by Chantal Goya, who you may recall as the star of Godard's Masculin/Feminin.



After having worked with Godard and also as one of the "yé-yé girl" pop singers of the mid-sixties, Goya went on to a successful career as a singer of children's songs. She also had a long-running musical television show for children on French TV.

Anyhow, I found clip of her singing this song the other day and showed it to Emily, who was absolutely enthralled.



Now, the melody is stuck in my head. Yesterday, it was the melody for a Spanish alphabet song with a salsa beat.



Welcome to fatherhood, Mike.

from Richard the Third


Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity:
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determined to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other:
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
Clarence comes.

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