The former post was off topic and was removed as it was a violation of our
Great Books spirit.

These forums are being phased out & replaced. Join us at our new
registration-only forums at:

jollyrogerwest.com Great Books forums,
Philosophy Forums,
and booksliterature.com Great Books forums.

Please respect that these are Great Books sites. We far prefer
discussions along the following
lines:

LXXXIV



Who is it that says most, which can say more,

Than this rich praise,--that you alone, are you?

In whose confine immured is the store

Which should example where your equal grew.

Lean penury within that pen doth dwell

That to his subject lends not some small glory;

But he that writes of you, if he can tell

That you are you, so dignifies his story,

Let him but copy what in you is writ,

Not making worse what nature made so clear,

And such a counterpart shall fame his wit,

Making his style admired every where.

  You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,

  Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse.

 	--William Shakespeare

XXVIII



How can I then return in happy plight,

That am debarre\'d the benefit of rest?

When day\'s oppression is not eas\'d by night,

But day by night and night by day oppress\'d,

And each, though enemies to either\'s reign,

Do in consent shake hands to torture me,

The one by toil, the other to complain

How far I toil, still farther off from thee. 

I tell the day, to please him thou art bright,

And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:

So flatter I the swart-complexion\'d night,

When sparkling stars twire not thou gild\'st the even.

  But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,

  And night doth nightly make grief\'s length seem stronger.

 	--William Shakespeare

Art is a way of expression that has to be understood by everyone,
everywhere.
Rufino Tamayo, artist

CIII



Alack! what poverty my Muse brings forth,

That having such a scope to show her pride,

The argument, all bare, is of more worth

Than when it hath my added praise beside!

O! blame me not, if I no more can write!

Look in your glass, and there appears a face

That over-goes my blunt invention quite, 

Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace.

Were it not sinful then, striving to mend,

To mar the subject that before was well?

For to no other pass my verses tend

Than of your graces and your gifts to tell;

  And more, much more, than in my verse can sit,

  Your own glass shows you when you look in it.

 	--William Shakespeare