Now is tha winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by dis sun of York;
And all tha cloudz dat lour’d upon our house
In tha deep bosom of tha ocean buried.
Now is our brows bound wit victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up fo’ monuments;
Our stern alarums chizzled ta merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches ta delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth’d his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mountin barded steeds
To fright tha soulz of fearful adversaries,
Dude capers nimbly up in a ladyz chamber
To tha lascivious pleasin of a lute.
Made glorious summer by dis sun of York;
And all tha cloudz dat lour’d upon our house
In tha deep bosom of tha ocean buried.
Now is our brows bound wit victorious wreaths;
Our bruised arms hung up fo’ monuments;
Our stern alarums chizzled ta merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches ta delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smooth’d his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mountin barded steeds
To fright tha soulz of fearful adversaries,
Dude capers nimbly up in a ladyz chamber
To tha lascivious pleasin of a lute.
“
| — | “The Life and Death of Richard the Third” as seen through http://www.gizoogle.net/textilize.php |
