Phoenix
by Dale J. Sprague
Variations of Shakespeare
Romeo and Juliet
Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona, where their pathos be, from an ancient grudge breaks new violence, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From the ill'fated loins of these two foes, a pair of star'crossed lovers, together, vy for life, who for each other, their reach over extending, allows their brave passion to flourish, and dare to dream with only generations of tainted blood by which to nourish. Their love, a defiant yet blood'red moon, is marked by fearful passage, and upon this stage, it's darkened more by the elders' war and continuous rage, whose war'worn swords and heavy boots, threaten prodigy love's tender roots.
What say you..Juliet? Can you love a young man? Read over the volume of his young face, find delight writ there with beauty's pen. Examine every harmonious feature, see how one lends the other enhancement, and what obscured in this fair volume, find written only in the margin of his eyes. This precious book of love, this eligible lover, to exhault him only lacks a woman, a cover. As the fair sea hides the fair fish within it, fair men and women are, each within each. That book in many's eye share the glory, that in gold clasps locks in the golden story, so shall you be enhanced by all he possesses, making yourself surely no less. Rather, greater as men and woman grow through each other. Speak truthfully..are you ready?..for love
The gray'eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, fracturing the eastern clouds with streaks of light. And spotted darkenss like a drunkard reels forth from a day's path under the sun's burning wheels. Now, from the sun advance his burning eye, the day to cheer, and night's dark dew to dry, I must fill this willow basket of ours with woeful weeds and precious'juiced flowers. The Earth that's nature's mother is her tomb. What is her burying grave, that is her womb. And from her womb, children of disparate kind, we sucking on her natural bosom find, many for many virtues excellent..none for some, yet all different. O'much is the powerful grace that is in plants and stone, and their true qualities..for even the vile that on Earth does live, to the Earth some good does give..nor good so good that could not be diverted from its truth, stumbling on abuse. Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied, and vice sometimes by action, dignified
Old desire does in its death bed lie, and young affection gapes to be its heir, that fairness for which love once groaned, would die with tender Juliet matched, is now not fair
Now, Romeo is beloved and loves again..each a'like bewitched by the charm of looks, but he, while foe supposed, he must conduct a lover's suit. And she...steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks. Being held a foe, he might not breathe such vows as lovers swear, and she..as much in love, her means much less to meet her new beloved anywhere. But passion lends them power..time, the means to meet. Tempering the extremities with extreme sweet
By the heavenly divine!..what a change is here. Is the last that Romeo loved so dear, so soon forsaken? Young men's love then lies, not in heart, but in their eyes. Forsaken divine! What ample brine has washed Romeo's cheeks for love old! How can wetted salt, cast away in haste to season love new, have any taste? Through murky clouds, the sun not yet signs love from heaven clears, and Romeo's old groans yet ring in ancient ears, and upon Romeo's cheek, a stain from an old tear once wet, that has not washed off yet..and Romeo wastes himself, and his woes fast for all loves now past, but in Romeo..what has changed? Is it then?..women are as fickle, as depth may be shallow in men