Born in an age impossible
to separate fact and fiction,
it has been argued
that the man who wrote Hamlet
was of noble birth,
the blood of Norsemen in his veins,
champion of the tiltyard,
acclaimed spearshaker.
Say defenders, he was in tragic fact
the bastard son
of old Harry’s brazen heir Elizabeth,
bedded in her teens
by the lusty rogue and reckless adventurer,
Lord Admiral Thomas Seymour,
brother to a queen,
obsessed of wealth and power,
who paid the price with his head
and left the world a poet
robbed of his name
by political intrigue and accommodation,
yet who lives “so long as men
can breathe or eyes can see.”
The case is made that
his creative genius, disguised
in the Shakespeare nom de plum,
is acknowledged in Sonnet 76
where every word doth almost tell his name.
His life, wrote Dickens,
is a fine mystery.
Bravo on a good piece of intellectual poetry.
Peace, love, and light,
Amber "V"
Intriguing and doubtless, true. I am a borderline student of Shakespeare and Dickens, probably afraid of the real depth of the two. But, I enjoy reading your and others takes on these two, minds before their times. - Bill
Pity he never wrote his biography. Hans Andersen wrote his, The fairytale of my Life.
Someone rich and strange, that Stratford personage
we know as William Shakespeare.
Was he really an Earl in disguise
slumming in the london theatre world of his day,
or was he indeed the son of a Midlands glove-maker,
the man who gave us Hamlet, Macbeth, and Lear?
Myrna
Blessings J'nia
Along the literary path we stroll, small, delightful surprises at each bend and fork and a solid sense and mastery of history beneath our feet, all supplied by the great and inventive Williamson. Bravo!
John
Eileen
Very interesting. Don't know whether any of those things are true (strange things do happen), but what's in a name?
Mary