09w02:2 Shakespeare's Blog II

by timothy. 0 Comments

January 6th

Walking over crisp snow to my ordinary I saw her. She is either newly back or newly up from a sickness. To such as her our cold must be all agony. She was all mobled up at the window, he tawniness flat and dull in this snowlight, and I felt pity. I cannot believe that she is more than mocked at by the Inn men for her colour, I cannot believe that she is of that Clerkenwell tribe. She is brown not negro. Boldly I waved my hand passing, but she did not see or she ignored. And so back to rhyming away at the lover’s scenes, wooden wooden wooden but there i sn o time for re-working. Well, I put the bad harvest in Oberon’s speech and the thought for a fancy I would give my dark one in the window a womb rich with Titania’s young squire. I do but beg a little changeling boy to be my henchman.

(Anthony Burgess, Nothing Like The Sun, p. 144-145)

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