It’s hard
to believe how brutally cold it is
:( This afternoon’s sonnet:
__________________________________________
CXXI
'Tis better to be vile than vile esteem'd,
When not to be receives reproach of being;
And the just pleasure lost, which is so
deem'd
Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing:
For why should others' false adulterate eyes
Give salutation to my sportive blood?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
Which in their wills count bad what I think
good?
No, I am that I am, and they that level
At my abuses reckon up their own:
I may be straight though they themselves be
bevel;
By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be
shown;
Unless this general evil they maintain,
All men are bad and in their badness reign.
__________________________________________
The volta’s
pretty clear again—the unless in the
Shakespearean position—and the point of the poem is condensed (verdichtet) into
the final line. More tomorrow (when it’s
supposed to get even colder)—
No comments:
Post a Comment