Poe:
"in the darkest corners of our minds,
by great guardians guarded,
once a beautiful and tidy castle--
warm castle--showed itself.
In the ruler's Truth kingdom,
he stood there!
Never before he's seen a monster,
big as life and outside its lair!
Flags green, frightened, bright,
on the castle walls it roared,
(This--everything--was fixed
upon time).
And every whisper that bounced,
among the halls,
Among the siblings send shivers,
and the current ran.
Those lost in the room of tables,
through the window eyes they saw,
lyrics playing accordingly
to those unable,
round table there, sitting,
sweet sweet scheme!
In the room his muse sitting,
so the ruler could turn king.
And all but a crown, no gems or glory,
was there a booklet filled with doors,
through which the song did play, play, play,
and enchanted those no more.
A group of noises, whose sins were true,
anything but music,
played along their tune.
There lied the mind and heart of a king.
But all those evil need to borrow,
enter along the Monarch's high estate;
(Ah, here we come!--there is no tomorrow,
this shall be revenge upon him, to empty them!)
And soon around this dome, no glory,
he does burn hot with doom,
is but a dismembered body,
of a new world soon.
And followers, now, no more as allies,
through the blood-covered windows peek,
hideous beasts that move methodically,
to a horrible melody;
while, like a vastly empty stage,
through the one white door,
a hideous dragon does enter,
with its master--but not chained at all."
"in the darkest corners of our minds,
by great guardians guarded,
once a beautiful and tidy castle--
warm castle--showed itself.
In the ruler's Truth kingdom,
he stood there!
Never before he's seen a monster,
big as life and outside its lair!
Flags green, frightened, bright,
on the castle walls it roared,
(This--everything--was fixed
upon time).
And every whisper that bounced,
among the halls,
Among the siblings send shivers,
and the current ran.
Those lost in the room of tables,
through the window eyes they saw,
lyrics playing accordingly
to those unable,
round table there, sitting,
sweet sweet scheme!
In the room his muse sitting,
so the ruler could turn king.
And all but a crown, no gems or glory,
was there a booklet filled with doors,
through which the song did play, play, play,
and enchanted those no more.
A group of noises, whose sins were true,
anything but music,
played along their tune.
There lied the mind and heart of a king.
But all those evil need to borrow,
enter along the Monarch's high estate;
(Ah, here we come!--there is no tomorrow,
this shall be revenge upon him, to empty them!)
And soon around this dome, no glory,
he does burn hot with doom,
is but a dismembered body,
of a new world soon.
And followers, now, no more as allies,
through the blood-covered windows peek,
hideous beasts that move methodically,
to a horrible melody;
while, like a vastly empty stage,
through the one white door,
a hideous dragon does enter,
with its master--but not chained at all."
Shakespeare:
Scene II
Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA
MIRANDA
If by your art, my dearest father, you have
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered
With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel,
Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock
Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd.
Had I been any god of power, I would
Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere
It should the good ship so have swallow'd and
The fraughting souls within her.
PROSPERO
Be collected:
No more amazement: tell your piteous heart
There's no harm done.
MIRANDA
O, woe the day!
PROSPERO
No harm.
I have done nothing but in care of thee,
Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing
Of whence I am, nor that I am more better
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,
And thy no greater father.
MIRANDA
More to know
Did never meddle with my thoughts.
PROSPERO
'Tis time
I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,
And pluck my magic garment from me. So:
Lays down his mantle
Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd
The very virtue of compassion in thee,
I have with such provision in mine art
So safely ordered that there is no soul--
No, not so much perdition as an hair
Betid to any creature in the vessel
Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down;
For thou must now know farther.
MIRANDA
You have often
Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd
And left me to a bootless inquisition,
Concluding 'Stay: not yet.'
PROSPERO
The hour's now come;
The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;
Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember
A time before we came unto this cell?
I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not
Out three years old.
MIRANDA
Certainly, sir, I can.
Scene II
Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA
MIRANDA
If by your art, my dearest father, you have
Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,
But that the sea, mounting to the welkin's cheek,
Dashes the fire out. O, I have suffered
With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel,
Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,
Dash'd all to pieces. O, the cry did knock
Against my very heart. Poor souls, they perish'd.
Had I been any god of power, I would
Have sunk the sea within the earth or ere
It should the good ship so have swallow'd and
The fraughting souls within her.
PROSPERO
Be collected:
No more amazement: tell your piteous heart
There's no harm done.
MIRANDA
O, woe the day!
PROSPERO
No harm.
I have done nothing but in care of thee,
Of thee, my dear one, thee, my daughter, who
Art ignorant of what thou art, nought knowing
Of whence I am, nor that I am more better
Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell,
And thy no greater father.
MIRANDA
More to know
Did never meddle with my thoughts.
PROSPERO
'Tis time
I should inform thee farther. Lend thy hand,
And pluck my magic garment from me. So:
Lays down his mantle
Lie there, my art. Wipe thou thine eyes; have comfort.
The direful spectacle of the wreck, which touch'd
The very virtue of compassion in thee,
I have with such provision in mine art
So safely ordered that there is no soul--
No, not so much perdition as an hair
Betid to any creature in the vessel
Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down;
For thou must now know farther.
MIRANDA
You have often
Begun to tell me what I am, but stopp'd
And left me to a bootless inquisition,
Concluding 'Stay: not yet.'
PROSPERO
The hour's now come;
The very minute bids thee ope thine ear;
Obey and be attentive. Canst thou remember
A time before we came unto this cell?
I do not think thou canst, for then thou wast not
Out three years old.
MIRANDA
Certainly, sir, I can.
EPILOGUE:
PROSPERO
Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have's mine own,
Which is most faint: now, 'tis true,
I must be here confined by you,
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands:
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
Let your indulgence set me free.
PROSPERO
Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have's mine own,
Which is most faint: now, 'tis true,
I must be here confined by you,
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands:
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
Let your indulgence set me free.
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