CDXX
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You are currently reading a thread in /lit/ - Literature
You are currently reading a thread in /lit/ - Literature
As an unperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put beside his part,
That henchy blunt rolled with too thick a page,
Whose white smoke chokes lungs and weakens the heart
Me! I say valiantly, when it’s asked
Who can handle this beast without splutter?
My lungs are a castle, they’re strong, hold fast
Toke deeply, and then squeak: “smooth as butter”
And then, for fear of looking lame, hold back
That fugitive itch nesting in my throat
But I am o’erwhelmed, saliva stacks
I tense as cough escapes my bodies moat
As they say, if thou wish to have good health
Then check thou self before thee wreck thou self
>>7386856
>Rhyming health with self.
>>7387003
>works phonetically
>>7387020
No it doesn't.
>>7387026
Yes it does.
>>7387003
Tbh I say "th" as an f sound anyway, because I'm a dirty British commoner, much like the people Will was writing for
>>7387003
>needing to have perfect rhymes
>>7387058
Bravo guy, bravo.
>>7386856
Tangentially related, has anyone else begun to realize how many authors shamelessly stole their titles from Shakespeare after reading him?
>>7387087
you're meant to notice you git
>>7387058
Exact rhymes can get boring if used exclusively. Close rhymes can make poetry better. This is the opinion of Yeats, one of the best poets ever.
>falling for the troll
>>7387087
It's called allusion
it's an ok joke
To toke, or not to toke, that is the question:
Whether 'tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of grim sobriety
Or to roll up against a Sea of troubles,
And in doing so end them: to grind, to smoke
Once more; and in smoking, to say we end
The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks
That Flesh is heir to? Ritual of consumption
Reprieves us of our cares. To grind, to smoke,
To smoke, to live the Dream; aye, rub the weed,
For in that rub’d-weed spiff, what dreams may come,
When we have passed the dutchie pon de left,
Must give us pause. There's the zone out
When our thoughts run amok of time itself
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time,
The trains running late, the traffic pollution,
The ennui of the day, the hours snail by,
The insolence of Office, and the Spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
If he himself could not alleviate
With a phat zeppelin?
>>7387163
Read sonnet 116.
He rhymes come with doom, and love with remove.
>>7387187
>I don't understand that pronunciation has changed over time.
>>7387213
Not him, but I know that and I fucking hate it. How am I supposed to know how those words are pronounced?
>>7387187
Southern Elizabethan accents were like rural west-country ones now, shakespeare sounded like a farmer, deal with it.
>People in the 18th century pronounced London Lunnan.
