Alas! ’tis true, I have gone here and there,
And made my self a motley to the view,
Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
Made old offences of affections new;
Most true it is, that I have looked on truth
Askance and strangely; but, by all above,
These blenches gave my heart another youth,
And worse essays proved thee my best of love.
Now all is done, have what shall have no end:
Mine appetite I never more will grind
On newer proof, to try an older friend,
A god in love, to whom I am confined.
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best,
Even to thy pure and most most loving breast.
The real reason why Sherlock didn’t contact John after faking his death.
Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one:
So shall those blots that do with me remain,
Without thy help, by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which though it alter not love’s sole effect,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love’s delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
Unless thou take that honour from thy name:
But do not so, I love thee in such sort,
As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.
"There was a star danced, and under that was I born.” - William Shakespeare
There is nothing I can say about Shakespeare that hasn’t already been said before. As
one of the greatest playwright the world has ever seen, his plays are still viable… ever awesome, ever green.
Shakespeare, no matter who we are or where, still has a power over us… a strange power, not unlike the one Hamlet’s father had over him. A power that awes, inspires - transcending through space and time…
So here’s a toast, to the one who shaped my life (and no doubt the lives of many others before me) and gave me the courage to believe… to fly.
"The souls most fed with Shakespeare’s flame
Still sat unconquered in a ring,
Remembering him like anything.
G. K. Chesterton (1874-1936), The Shakespeare Memorial
I don’t ship Wincest, but this is too perfect.
WE two boys together clinging,
One the other never leaving,
Up and down the roads going - North and South excursions making,
Power enjoying - elbows stretching - fingers clutching;
Arm’d and fearless - eating, drinking, sleeping, loving,
No law less than ourselves owning - sailing, soldiering, thieving, threatening,
Misers, menials, priests alarming - air breathing, water drinking, on the turf or the sea-beach dancing,
Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing,
Fulfilling our foray.
- Walt Whitman
The final promise Sam extracts from Dean, before his death in Swan Song (5.22)
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Then you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot
If thinking on me then should make you woe.
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse.
But let your love even with my life decay,
Lest the wise world should look into your moan
And mock you with me after I am gone.
[When I’m dead, mourn for me no longer than you can hear the funeral bell, telling the everyone that I’ve left this horrible world to live with even more horrible creatures (down there).
No, if you are reading this don’t remember the person who wrote it, because I love you so much, that I rather you forgot about me, than reminisced and became miserable. Hell, if you are, indeed, reading this letter after I’m one with the earth, don’t so much as repeat my name to anyone, but let your love for me slowly fade away, along side my body.
Because I don’t want the “wise” people of the world to see your sadness and mock you about it (about us) after I’m gone.]
Dean finally opens about why he wasn’t affected by Famine, like everyone else… including Cas.
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their body’s force,
Some in their garments though new-fangled ill;
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:
But these particulars are not my measure,
All these I better in one general best.
Thy love is better than high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments’ cost,
Of more delight than hawks and horses be;
And having thee, of all men’s pride I boast:
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take
All this away, and me most wretched make.
[Some people are proud of their social status, some of their wealth, some people of their abilities and some of their physical strength. Others take pride in their fashion sense - even though it may be somewhat questionable - and still others take pride in their pets (seriously?!?). Every person has that one thing he loves above everything else.
But I don’t measure my happiness by any of these things. I put one above them all. To me, your love is better than high birth, richer than wealth, worth more than expensive clothes, more pleasurable than pets could ever be. In having you I have something better than anyone can ever boast of.
And I’m better with your love, except I’m unfortunate in one respect: You can take all this away from me and make me completely wretched.]
Sonnet #91: Destial - Cas’ betrayal
Jeffery, the wannabe demon/serial killer, talks to/about his love, the demon that possessed him in [Supernatural 7x15: RepoMan]
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world without end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu.
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are, how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.
[As your slave, what else should I do but spend my time waiting to do whatever you want me to? I don’t have any valuable time to spend, or any services to do, until you need me.
Sonnet #29: Dean Winchester
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