Wear their brave state out of memory

Oops! I got my calendar mixed up—yesterday I was meant to drag out the biggest poetic gun of them all, and I…well, I spent most of the week tangling with a 35k-line spreadsheet so by Friday I had no synapses firing in sequence.

Well, no mind—we only think that 23 April was William Shakespeare’s birthday, on account of him having been christened on 26 April 1564. But he did die on the 23^rd in 1616, so it’s kind of poetic to fix his start and finish on the same day.

It’s my custom to give a couple of pieces from the bard—something from one of his plays and a sonnet. So today

The play is Henry VI, Part 2; which is chockers with war, rebellion, individual combat, chicanery, deceit, ambition, witchcraft and a lot of other activity. We’re in Act V, Scene 2, when the young Lord Clifford is about to discover that York (father of the future Edward IV and Richard III) has killed his father. Here’s what he has to say:

Shame and confusion! All is on the rout.
Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds
Where it should guard. O war, thou son of hell,
Whom angry heavens do make their minister,
Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part
Hot coals of vengeance! Let no soldier fly.
He that is truly dedicate to war
Hath no self-love; nor he that loves himself
Hath not essentially, but by circumstance,
The name of valor.

(Clifford goes on to support Henry VI’s queen (who ruled and led armies during his frequent bouts of insanity) Margaret in her unwavering fight against the Yorkists, which ended in defeat at Tewkesbury, in 1471.)

By way of balance, the sonnet for today is number 15. Here Shakespeare talks about the fleeting nature of our existence, and how he’s extending the life of his subject by writing about her.

Well, it’s something.

When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with decay
To change your day of youth to sullied night,
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.