Cinna the Poet

by Cook Thugless

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I dreamt tonight that I did feast with Caesar
And things unlucky charge my fantasy

Come what may unbraced, my breast to heaven
Cross-blue lightning opens everything on the seven
Bid me say to you by word of mouth from the senate
For the eye sees not itself and this conspiracy hath menaced
Prythee peace
To be or not to be, to die, to sleep, to dream, to weep
These beads of sorrow, to suffer the slings and arrows
Of outrageous fortune. Who would fardels bear?
The whips and scorns of time
Ay, that’s the rub there
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
The undiscovered country whose bourn no traveler returns
Pangs, despised love, laws delay makes cowards of us all
‘Tis the fire-eyed maid of smoky war

I wear that same dagger for myself
If it were done when ‘tis done ‘twere well it were Duncan done quickly
Be all end all and catch with his surcease, success, my love swears
‘Til it’s hors’d upon the sightless couriers of the air
Friends, countrymen, Romans the poor have cried
The good is ‘oft interred is enrolled
Pedestal at the capitol tolled
Slew him for the good of Rome
Honest Iago knows Antony spoke this ages yoke for the throne.

I would sooner swim to the Bermudas on two politicians rotten bladders
I would rather have men about me that were fatter
A politician is the devils quilted anvil
He fashions all sins on him, the blows are never heard still
Sway of Earth, things unfirm worse
I will do so, if you will
Think of the world, heavens menace so
Mannerly my sin is purged, tender go
When he shall die, violent delights know
Take him and cut him out in little stars
Fire and powder; wolfish raven paws

My bounty is as boundless as the sea
My love as deep
The more I give, the more I have
For both are infinitely bound
You lie; in faith
For you are called plain Kate, prettiest Kate
My super dainty Kate
For dainties are all Kates
And therefore Kate
Take this of me, dainty Katie
Kate the curst, thy virtue so deeply
Kate of Kate hall and of Christendom
Had I not villain, what hast thy done
Working confusion on your enemies
And of your blood I’ll make two pasties
I’ll grind your bones to dust
You know your mother means to feast with me.

Come what may come, tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow
All our yesterdays have lighted fools
Sound and fury; hollow
All the world’s a stage, I am the unperfect actor
Walking shadow struts, frets upon his hour
And then is heard no more- out, out, brief candle
Signifying nothing
Hereafter, dusty death
Everlasting rest, world-wearied flesh
Take your last breath
I’m not a prophet, I’m just Cinna the Poet.

Come what may unbraced, my breast to heaven
Cross-blue lightning opens everything to the last
Syllable, syllable of recorded time


released 17 May 2014
Image: Allegra Epstein
Lyrics: William Shakespeare
Arrangement: Jean Louis Droulers



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