at the site of the former Fillmore East, June 9, 2007
cxliv by William Shakespeare
Two loues I haue of comfort and diſpaire, Which like two ſpirits do ſugieſt me ſtill, The better angell is a man right faire: The worſer ſpirit a woman collour'd il.
To win me ſoone to hell my femall euill, Tempteth my better angel from my ſight, And would corrupt my ſaint to be a diuel: Wooing his purity with her fowle pride.
And whether that my angel be turn'd finde, Suſpect I may, yet not directly tell, But being both from me both to each friend, I geſſe one angel in an others hel.
Yet this ſhal I nere know but liue in doubt, Till my bad angel fire my good one out.
xiv by William Shakespeare
Not from the ſtars do I my iudgement plucke, And yet me thinkes I haue Aſtronomy, But not to tell of good, or euil lucke, Of plagues, of dearths, or ſeaſons quallity,
Nor can I fortune to breefe mynuits tell; Pointing to each his thunder, raine and winde, Or ſay with Princes if it ſhal go wel By oft predict that I in heauen finde.
But from thine eies my knowledge I deriue, And conſtant ſtars in them I read ſuch art As truth and beautie ſhal together thriue If from thy ſelfe, to ſtore thou wouldſt conuert:
Or elſe of thee this I prognoſticate, Thy end is Truthes and Beauties doome and date.
1 comments:
Sabanites can't even win graciously.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20081110/ap_on_re_us/fbc_couple_slain_football;_ylt=AkHIdKzuw8zU0fwGW98qigus0NUE
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