Notes from a small island A weblog by Jonathan Ali |
Saturday, June 21, 2003 Now the hungry lion roars, And the wolf behowls the moon; Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, All with weary task fordone. Now the wasted brands do glow, Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud, Puts the wretch that lies in woe In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth its sprite, In the church-way paths to glide: And we fairies, that do run By the triple Hecate's team From the presence of the sun, Following darkness like a dream, Now are frolic; not a mouse Shall disturb this hallow'd house: I am sent with broom before, To sweep the dust behind the door. - Puck, from A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act V Scene II posted by Jonathan | 12:00 PM 0 comments 0 Comments: |
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