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Learning for Life: A Homeschool PodcastWhy and How to Teach Shakespeare w/Ehren Ziegler from Chop BardShakespeare: A topic that makes most parents shudder. But with the help of our friend Ehren Ziegler, host of the Chop Bard podcast and longtime Shakespeare expert, we break down why Shakespeare is important and how you can teach it to your kids. (It's easier than you think!)
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To see the full show notes (including links to websites and items mentioned) head over to: https://www.ki...
2021-11-1059 min
Shakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 85My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still, While comments of your praise, richly compil'd, Reserve their character with golden quill And precious phrase by all the Muses fil'd. I think good thoughts whilst other write good words, And like unlettered clerk still cry "Amen" To every hymn that able spirit affords In polish'd form of well-refined pen. Hearing you prais'd, I say, "'Tis so, 'tis true," And to the most of praise add something more, But that is in my thought, whose love to you (Though words c...
2020-09-0612 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 84Who is it that says most, which can say more Than this rich praise, that you alone are you, In whose confine immured is the store Which should example where your equal grew? Lean penury within that pen doth dwell That to his subject lends not some small glory, But he that writes of you, if he can tell That you are you, so dignifies his story. Let him but copy what in you is writ, Not making worse what nature made so clear, And such a counterpart shall...
2020-08-1612 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 83I never saw that you did painting need, And therefore to your fair no painting set; I found (or thought I found) you did exceed The barren tender of a poet's debt; And therefore have I slept in your report, That you yourself, being extant, well might show How far a modern quill doth come too short, Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. This silence for my sin you did impute, Which shall be most my glory being dumb, For I impair not beauty being mute,
2020-08-0911 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 82I grant thou wert not married to my Muse, And therefore mayest without attaint o'erlook The dedicated words which writers use Of their fair subject, blessing every book. Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue, Finding thy worth a limit past my praise, And therefore art enforc'd to seek anew Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. And do so, love; yet when they have devis'd What strained touches rhetoric can lend, Thou, truly fair, wert truly sympathiz'd In true plain words by thy true-telling friend;
2020-08-0209 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 81Or I shall live your epitaph to make, Or you survive when I in earth am rotten; From hence your memory death cannot take, Although in me each part will be forgotten. Your name from hence immortal life shall have, Though I (once gone) to all the world must die; The earth can yield me but a common grave, When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie; Your monument shall be my gentle verse, Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read, And tongues to be your being shall rehearse,
2020-07-1917 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 80O how I faint when I of you do write, Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, And in the praise thereof spends all his might, To make me tongue-tied, speaking of your fame. But since your worth (wide as the ocean is) The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, My saucy bark (inferior far to his) On your broad main doth willfully appear. Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride, Or (being wrack'd) I am a worthless...
2020-07-1212 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 79Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, My verse alone had all thy gentle grace, But now my gracious numbers are decay'd, And my sick Muse doth give another place. I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument Deserves the travail of a worthier pen, Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent He robs thee of, and pays it thee again. He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word From thy behavior; beauty doth he give, And found it in thy cheek; he can afford No...
2020-07-0510 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 78So oft have I invok'd thee for my Muse, And found such fair assistance in my verse, As every alien pen hath got my use, And under thee their poesy disperse. Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing, And heavy ignorance aloft to fly, Have added feathers to the learned's wing, And given grace a double majesty. Yet be most proud of that which I compile, Whose influence is thine, and born of thee: In others' works thou dost but mend the style, And arts...
2020-06-2114 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 77Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste, The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear, And of this book this learning mayst thou taste. The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show, Of mouthed graves will give thee memory; Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know Time's thievish progress to eternity. Look what thy memory cannot contain Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find Those children nurs'd, deliver'd from thy brain, To take a new acquaintance...
2020-06-1414 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 76Why is my verse so barren of new pride? So far from variation or quick change? Why with the time do I not glance aside To new-found methods and to compounds strange? Why write I still all one, ever the same, And keep invention in a noted weed, That every word doth almost tell my name, Showing their birth, and where they did proceed? O, know, sweet love, I always write of you, And you and love are still my argument; So all my best is dressing old words...
2020-06-0715 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 75So are you to my thoughts as food to life, Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground; And for the peace of you I hold such strife As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found: Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure; Now counting best to be with you alone, Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure; Sometime all full with feasting on your sight, And by and by clean starved for a look; Possessing or pursuing...
2020-05-1713 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 74But be contented when that fell arrest Without all bail shall carry me away, My life hath in this line some interest, Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. When thou reviewest this, thou dost review The very part was consecrate to thee: The earth can have but earth, which is his due, My spirit is thine, the better part of me. So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, The prey of worms, my body being dead, The coward conquest of a wretch's knife,...
2020-05-1010 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 73That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou seest the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the...
2020-05-0313 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 72O, lest the world should task you to recite What merit liv'd in me that you should love After my death, dear love, forget me quite, For you in me can nothing worthy prove; Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, To do more for me than mine own desert, And hang more praise upon deceased I Than niggard truth would willingly impart: O, lest your true love may seem false in this, That you for love speak well of me untrue, My name be buried where my body...
2020-04-1910 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 71No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world that I am fled From this vile world with vildest worms to dwell; Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it, for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, If thinking on me then should make you woe. O, if (I say) you look upon this verse, When I (perhaps) compounded am with clay, Do not...
2020-04-1215 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 70That thou are blam'd shall not be thy defect, For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; The ornament of beauty is suspect, A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. So thou be good, slander doth but approve Thy worth the greater, being woo'd of time, For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, And thou present'st a pure unstained prime. Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days, Either not assail'd, or victor being charg'd, Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise To...
2020-04-0509 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 69Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend; All tongues (the voice of souls) give thee that due, Utt'ring bare truth, even so as foes commend. Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown'd, But those same tongues that give thee so thine own, In other accents do this praise confound By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. They look into the beauty of thy mind, And that in guess they measure by thy deeds, Then, churls...
2020-03-1511 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 68Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, When beauty liv'd and died as flowers do now, Before these bastard signs of fair were borne, Or durst inhabit on a living brow; Before the golden tresses of the dead, The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, To live a second life on second head; Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay: In him those holy antique hours are seen, Without all ornament, itself and true, Making no summer of another's green, Robbing no old to dress his...
2020-03-0814 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 67Ah, wherefore with infection should he live, And with his presence grace impiety, That sin by him advantage should achieve, And lace itself with his society? Why should false painting imitate his cheek, And steal dead seeing of his living hue? Why should poor beauty indirectly seek Roses of shadow, since his rose is true? Why should he live, now Nature bankrout is, Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins, For she hath no exchequer now but his, And proud of many, lives upon his gains? O, h...
2020-03-0114 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 66Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry: As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honor shamefully misplac'd, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill, And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, And captive good attending captain ill: Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that to die, I leave my love...
2020-02-1613 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 65Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'ersways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower? O how shall summer's honey breath hold out Against the wrackful siege of batt'ring days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout, Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays? O fearful meditation! Where, alack, Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid? Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back? Or...
2020-02-0911 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 64When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced The rich proud cost of outworn buried age; When sometime lofty towers I see down rased, And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, And the firm soil win of the wat'ry main, Increasing store with loss, and loss with store; When I have seen such interchange of state, Or state itself confounded to decay, Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate, That Time will...
2020-02-0212 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 63Against my love shall be as I am now With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn, When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd his brow With lines and wrinkles, when his youthful morn Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night, And all those beauties whereof now he's king Are vanishing, or vanish'd out of sight, Stealing away the treasure of his spring; For such a time do I now fortify Against confounding age's cruel knife, That he shall never cut from memory My sweet love's beauty, though...
2020-01-1916 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 62Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye, And all my soul, and all my every part; And for this sin there is no remedy, It is so grounded inward in my heart. Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, No shape so true, no truth of such account, And for myself mine own worth do define, As I all other in all worths surmount. But when my glass shows me myself indeed, Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity, Mine own self-love quite contrary I read; Self so...
2020-01-1218 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 61Is it thy will thy image should keep open My heavy eyelids to the weary night? Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, While shadows like to thee do mock my sight? Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee So far from home into my deeds to pry, To find out shames and idle hours in me, The scope and tenure of thy jealousy? O no, thy love, though much, is not so great, It is my love that keeps mine eye awake, Mine own true...
2020-01-0512 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 60Like as the waves make towards the pibbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end, Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity, once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his...
2019-12-1513 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 59If there be nothing new, but that which is Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd, Which laboring for invention bear amiss The second burden of a former child! O that record could with a backward look, Even of five hundreth courses of the sun, Show me your image in some antique book, Since mind at first in character was done! That I might see what the old world could say To this composed wonder of your frame, Whether we are mended, or whe'er better they, Or...
2019-12-0813 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 58That god forbid that made me first your slave I should in thought control your times of pleasure, Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave, Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure. O, let me suffer (being at your beck) Th' imprison'd absence of your liberty, And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check, Without accusing you of injury. Be where you list, your charter is so strong, That you yourself may privilege your time To what you will, to you it doth belong...
2019-12-0114 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 57Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend, Nor services to do, till you require. Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour, Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, Nor think the bitterness of absence sour, When you have bid your servant once adieu. Nor dare I question with my jealous thought Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, But like a sad slave stay and think of...
2019-11-1716 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 56Sweet love, renew thy force, be it not said Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd, To-morrow sharp'ned in his former might. So, love, be thou: although to-day thou fill Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness, Tomorrow see again, and do not kill The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness: Let this sad int'rim like the ocean be Which parts the shore, where two contracted new Come daily to the banks, that when they see Return of...
2019-11-1014 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 55Not marble nor the gilded monuments Of princes shall outlive this pow'rful rhyme, But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time. When wasteful war shall statues overturn, And broils root out the work of masonry, Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn The living record of your memory. 'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room, Even in the eyes of all posterity That wear this world out to the...
2019-11-0313 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 54O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odor which doth in it live. The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly, When summer's breath their masked buds discloses; But for their virtue only is their show, They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade, Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so, Of their...
2019-10-2015 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 53What is your substance, whereof are you made, That millions of strange shadows on you tend? Since every one hath, every one, one shade, And you, but one, can every shadow lend: Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit Is poorly imitated after you; On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set, And you in Grecian tires are painted new; Speak of the spring and foison of the year, The one doth shadow of your beauty show, The other as your bounty doth appear, And you in every blessed shape...
2019-10-1312 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 52So am I as the rich whose blessed key Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, The which he will not ev'ry hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, Since seldom coming, in the long year set, Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, Or captain jewels in the carcanet. So is the time that keeps you as my chest, Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, To make some special instant special blest,
2019-10-0613 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 51Thus can my love excuse the slow offense Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed: From where thou art, why should I haste me thence? Till I return, of posting is no need. O, what excuse will my poor beast then find, When swift extremity can seem but slow? Then should I spur though mounted on the wind, In winged speed no motion shall I know. Then can no horse with my desire keep pace; Therefore desire (of perfect'st love being made) Shall neigh (no dull flesh...
2019-09-1518 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 50How heavy do I journey on the way, When what I seek (my weary travel's end) Doth teach that ease and that repose to say, "Thus far the miles are measur'd from thy friend." The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, As if by some instinct the wretch did know His rider lov'd not speed, being made from thee. The bloody spur cannot provoke him on, That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, Which heavily he answers with...
2019-09-0811 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 49Against that time (if ever that time come) When I shall see thee frown on my defects, When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum, Call'd to that audit by advis'd respects; Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass, And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye, When love converted from the thing it was Shall reasons find of settled gravity: Against that time do I insconce me here Within the knowledge of mine own desert, And this my hand against myself uprear, To guard...
2019-09-0111 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 48How careful was I, when I took my way, Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, That to my use it might unused stay From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, Thou best of dearest, and mine only care, Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. Thee have I not lock'd up in any chest, Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, Within the gentle closure of my...
2019-08-1810 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 47Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, And each doth good turns now unto the other: When that mine eye is famish'd for a look, Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother, With my love's picture then my eye doth feast, And to the painted banquet bids my heart; Another time mine eye is my heart's guest, And in his thoughts of love doth share a part. So either by thy picture or my love, Thyself away are present still with me, For thou not...
2019-08-1112 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 46Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, How to divide the conquest of thy sight: Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar, My heart mine eye the freedom of that right. My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie (A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes), But the defendant doth that plea deny, And says in him thy fair appearance lies. To 'cide this title is impanelled A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart, And by their verdict is determined...
2019-08-0415 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 45The other two, slight air and purging fire, Are both with thee, where ever I abide; The first my thought, the other my desire, These present-absent with swift motion slide. For when these quicker elements are gone In tender embassy of love to thee, My life being made of four, with two alone Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy; Until live's composition be recured By those swift messengers return'd from thee, Who even but now come back again, assured Of thy fair health, recounting it to me.
2019-07-2115 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 44If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, Injurious distance should not stop my way, For then despite of space I would be brought, From limits far remote, where thou dost stay. No matter then although my foot did stand Upon the farthest earth remov'd from thee, For nimble thought can jump both sea and land As soon as think the place where he would be. But ah, thought kills me that I am not thought, To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone, But that...
2019-07-1414 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 43When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see, For all the day they view things unrespected, But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed. Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright, How would thy shadow's form form happy show To the clear day with thy much clearer light, When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so! How would (I say) mine eyes be blessed made By looking on thee in the living day, When in dead...
2019-07-0718 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 42That thou hast her, it is not all my grief, And yet it may be said I lov'd her dearly; That she hath thee is of my wailing chief, A loss in love that touches me more nearly. Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye: Thou dost love her because thou know'st I love her, And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, Suff'ring my friend for my sake to approve her. If I lose thee, my loss is my love's gain, And losing her, my friend hath...
2019-06-1612 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 41Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits When I am sometime absent from thy heart, Thy beauty and thy years full well befits, For still temptation follows where thou art. Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won, Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed; And when a woman woos, what woman's son Will sourly leave her till she have prevailed? Ay me, but yet thou mightst my seat forbear, And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth, Who lead thee in their riot even there Where thou art...
2019-06-0915 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 40Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all, What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call, All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more. Then if for my love thou my love receivest, I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest, But yet be blam'd, if thou this self deceivest By willful taste of what thyself refusest. I do forgive thy robb'ry, gentle thief, Although thou steal thee all my poverty; And yet love...
2019-06-0214 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 39O, how thy worth with manners may I sing, When thou art all the better part of me? What can mine own praise to mine own self bring? And what is't but mine own when I praise thee? Even for this, let us divided live, And our dear love lose name of single one. That by this separation I may give That due to thee which thou deserv'st alone. O absence, what a torment wouldst thou prove, Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave To entertain the...
2019-05-1914 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 38How can my Muse want subject to invent While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse Thine own sweet argument, too excellent For every vulgar paper to rehearse? O, give thyself the thanks if aught in me Worthy perusal stand against thy sight, For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee, When thou thyself dost give invention light? Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth Than those old nine which rhymers invocate, And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth Eternal...
2019-05-1214 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 37As a decrepit father takes delight To see his active child do deeds of youth, So I, made lame by Fortune's dearest spite, Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth. For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, Or any of these all, or all, or more, Intitled in thy parts do crowned sit, I make my love ingrafted to this store: So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd, Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give,
2019-05-0516 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 36Let me confess that we two must be twain, Although our undivided loves are one: So shall those blots that do with me remain, Without thy help, by me be borne alone. In our two loves there is but one respect, Though in our lives a separable spite, Which though it alter not love's sole effect, Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. I may not evermore acknowledge thee, Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame, ...
2019-04-2113 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 35No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done: Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud, Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. All men make faults, and even I in this, Authorizing thy trespass with compare, Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss, Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are; For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense— Thy adverse party is thy advocate— And 'gainst myself a lawful plea...
2019-04-1416 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 34Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, And make me travel forth without my cloak, To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, Hiding thy brav'ry in their rotten smoke? 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, For no man well of such a salve can speak That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace; Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief, Though thou repent, yet...
2019-04-0722 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 33Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: Even so my sun one early morn did shine With all-triumphant splendor on my brow, But out, alack, he was but one...
2019-03-1727 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 32If thou survive my well-contented day, When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, Compare them with the bett'ring of the time, And though they be outstripp'd by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, Exceeded by the height of happier men. O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought: "Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,
2019-03-1019 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 31Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts Which I by lacking have supposed dead, And there reigns love and all love's loving parts, And all those friends which I thought buried. How many a holy and obsequious tear Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye As interest of the dead, which now appear But things remov'd that hidden in thee lie! Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, ...
2019-03-0318 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 30When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste; Then can I drown an eye (unus'd to flow) For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe, And moan th' expense of many a vanish'd sight; Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to...
2019-02-1717 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 29When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state ...
2019-02-1014 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 28How can I then return in happy plight That am debarr'd the benefit of rest? When day's oppression is not eas'd by night, But day by night and night by day oppress'd; And each (though enemies to either's reign) Do in consent shake hands to torture me, The one by toil, the other to complain How far I toil, still farther off from thee. I tell the day, to please him, thou art bright, And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven; So flatter I the swart-complexion'd...
2019-02-0316 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 27Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear repose for limbs with travel tired, But then begins a journey in my head To work my mind, when body's work's expired; For then my thoughts (from far where I abide) Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, Looking on darkness which the blind do see; Save that my soul's imaginary sight Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, Which like a jewel hung in ghastly night, Makes black night beauteous...
2019-01-2016 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 26Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, To thee I send this written ambassage To witness duty, not to show my wit; Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, But that I hope some good conceit of thine In thy soul's thought (all naked) will bestow it; Till whatsoever star that guides my moving Points on me graciously with fair aspect, And puts apparel on my tattered loving,...
2019-01-1316 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 25Let those who are in favor with their stars Of public honor and proud titles boast, Whilst I whom fortune of such triumph bars Unlook'd for joy in that I honor most. Great princes' favorites their fair leaves spread But as the marigold at the sun's eye, And in themselves their pride lies buried, For at a frown they in their glory die. The painful warrior famoused for worth, After a thousand victories once foil'd, Is from the book of honor rased quite, And all the rest forgot...
2019-01-0621 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 24Mine eye hath play’d the painter and hath stell’d Thy beauty’s form in table of my heart; My body is the frame wherein ’tis held, And perspective it is best painter’s art. For through the painter must you see his skill, To find where your true image pictur’d lies, Which in my bosom’s shop is hanging still, That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done: Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me Are w...
2018-12-1617 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 23As an unperfect actor on the stage, Who with his fear is put besides his part, Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart, So I, for fear of trust, forget to say The perfect ceremony of love’s rite, And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay, O’ercharg’d with burden of mine own love’s might. O, let my books be then the eloquence And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, Who plead for love, and look for...
2018-12-0922 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 22My glass shall not persuade me I am old, So long as youth and thou are of one date, But when in thee time’s furrows I behold, Then look I death my days should expiate. For all that beauty that doth cover thee Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me: How can I then be elder than thou art? O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary As I, not for myself, but for thee will, Bearing th...
2018-12-0213 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 21So is it not with me as with that Muse Stirr’d by a painted beauty to his verse, Who heaven itself for ornament doth use, And every fair with his fair doth rehearse, Making a couplement of proud compare With sun and moon, with earth and sea’s rich gems, With April’s first-born flowers, and all things rare That heaven’s air in this huge rondure hems. O, let me, true in love, but truly write, And then believe me, my love is as fair As any mother’s...
2018-11-1814 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 20A woman’s face with Nature’s own hand painted Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion; A woman’s gentle heart but not acquainted With shifting change as is false women’s fashion; An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; A man in hue all hues in his controlling, Which steals men’s eyes and women’s souls amazeth. And for a woman wert thou first created, Till Nature as she wrought thee fell a-doting, And by addition me of thee d...
2018-11-1124 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 19Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion’s paws, And make the earth devour her own sweet brood; Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws, And burn the long-liv’d phoenix in her blood; Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet’st, And do what e’er thou wilt, swift-footed Time, To the wide world and all her fading sweets: But I forbid thee one most heinous crime, O, carve not with thy hours my love’s fair brow, Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen; H...
2018-11-0419 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 18Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date; Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm’d, And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d: But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st, Nor shall Death brag thou wand’rest in his sh...
2018-10-2118 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 17Who will believe my verse in time to come If it were fill’d with your most high deserts? Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts. If I could write the beauty of your eyes, And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say, “This poet lies, Such heavenly touches ne’er touch’d earthly faces.” So should my papers (yellowed with their age) Be scorn’d, like old men of less truth than t...
2018-10-1414 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 16But wherefore do not you a mightier way Make war upon this bloody tyrant Time? And fortify yourself in your decay With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? Now stand you on the top of happy hours, And many maiden gardens, yet unset, With virtuous wish would bear your living flowers, Much liker than your painted counterfeit: So should the lines of life that life repair Which this time’s pencil, or my pupil pen, Neither in inward worth nor outward fair Can make you live yourself in...
2018-10-0714 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 15When 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 check’d 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...
2018-09-1622 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 14Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck, And yet methinks I have astronomy, But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons’ quality; Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, ’Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind, Or say with princes if it shall go well By oft predict that I in heaven find. But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, And, constant stars, in them I read such art As truth and beauty shall together thrive If f...
2018-09-0916 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 13O that you were yourself! But, love, you are No longer yours than you yourself here live: Against this coming end you should prepare, And your sweet semblance to some other give. So should that beauty which you hold in lease Find no determination; then you were Yourself again after yourself’s decease, When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, Which husbandry in honor might uphold Against the stormy gusts of winter’s day And barren rage of d...
2018-09-0222 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 12When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls all silver’d o’er with white; When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, And summer’s green all girded up in sheaves Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard: Then of thy beauty do I question make That thou among the wastes of time must go, Since sweets and be...
2018-08-1919 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 11As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow’st, In one of thine, from that which thou departest, And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow’st Thou mayst call thine, when thou from youth convertest. Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase, Without this, folly, age, and cold decay. If all were minded so, the times should cease, And threescore year would make the world away. Let those whom nature hath not made for store, Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish: Look whom she best endow’d she ga...
2018-08-1217 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 10For shame deny that thou bear’st love to any, Who for thyself art so unprovident. Grant, if thou wilt, thou art belov’d of many, But that thou none lov’st is most evident; For thou art so possess’d with murd’rous hate, That ’gainst thyself thou stick’st not to conspire, Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate Which to repair should be thy chief desire. O, change thy thought, that I may change my mind! Shall hate be fairer lodg’d than gentle love? Be as thy presence is...
2018-08-0514 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 9Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye That thou consum’st thyself in single life? Ah! If thou issueless shalt hap to die, The world will wail thee like a makeless wife, The world will be thy widow and still weep, That thou no form of thee hast left behind, When every private widow well may keep, By children’s eyes, her husband’s shape in mind. Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it, But beau...
2018-07-1514 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 8Music to hear, why hear’st thou music sadly? Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy. Why lov’st thou that which thou receiv’st not gladly, Or else receiv’st with pleasure thine annoy? If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, By unions married, do offend thine ear, They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear. Mark how one string, sweet husband to another, Strikes each in each by mutual ordering; Resembling sire, and child, and happy mother, Wh...
2018-07-0812 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 7Lo in the orient when the gracious light Lifts up his burning head, each under eye Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, Serving with looks his sacred majesty, And having climb’d the steep-up heavenly hill, Resembling strong youth in his middle age, Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, Attending on his golden pilgrimage: But when from highmost pitch, with weary car, Like feeble age he reeleth from the day, The eyes (’fore duteous) now converted are From his low tract and look another way: So thou...
2018-07-0115 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 6Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface In thee thy summer ere thou be distill’d: Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place With beauty’s treasure ere it be self-kill’d. That use is not forbidden usury, Which happies those that pay the willing loan; That’s for thyself to breed another thee, Or ten times happier be it ten for one; Ten times thyself were happier than thou art, If ten of thine ten times refigur’d thee, Then what could death do if thou shouldst dep...
2018-06-1715 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 5Those hours that with gentle work did frame The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell Will play the tyrants to the very same, And that unfair which fairly doth excel: For never-resting time leads summer on To hideous winter and confounds him there, Sap check’d with frost and lusty leaves quite gone, Beauty o’ersnow’d and bareness every where: Then were not summer’s distillation left A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, Beauty’s effect with beauty were bereft, Nor it nor no remembranc...
2018-06-1014 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 4Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend Upon thyself thy beauty’s legacy? Nature’s bequest gives nothing, but doth lend, And being frank she lends to those are free: Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse The bounteous largess given thee to give? Profitless usurer, why dost thou use So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live? For having traffic with thyself alone, Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive, Then how when Nature calls thee to be gone, What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
2018-06-0318 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 3Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest, Now is the time that face should form another, Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. For where is she so fair whose unear’d womb Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? Or who is he so fond will be the tomb, Of his self-love, to stop posterity? Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee Calls back the lovely April of her prime, So thou through windows of t...
2018-05-2019 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 2When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field, Thy youth’s proud livery, so gaz’d on now, Will be a tatter’d weed of small worth held: Then being ask’d, where all thy beauty lies, Where all the treasure of thy lusty days, To say within thine own deep-sunken eyes Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise. How much more praise deserv’d thy beauty’s use, If thou couldst answer, “This fair child of mine Shall sum my count, and make...
2018-05-1311 min
Shakespeare Sundays with Chop BardSonnet 1From fairest creatures we desire increase, That thereby beauty’s rose might never die, But as the riper should by time decease, His tender heir might bear his memory: But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed’st thy light’s flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel. Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament, And only herald to the gaudy spring, Within thine own bud buriest thy content, And, tender churl, mak’st waste i...
2018-05-0624 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardThe SonnetsAn introduction to Shakespeare's sonnets, in preparation for the next 154 episodes.
2018-04-2933 min
Shakespeare Sundays with Chop BardExcellent Endeavor Of DrinkingA special holiday message from Sir John Falstaff. (from The Second Part of Henry IV – Act IV scene 3)
2017-12-2403 min
Shakespeare Sundays with Chop BardThrown In The ThamesSir John Falstaff – The Merry Wives of Windsor – Act III scene 5
2017-12-1714 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardNothing But ThunderIsabella – Measure For Measure – Act II scene 2 Featuring: Heather Ordover
2017-11-2613 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardWho Will Believe Me?Isabella – Measure For Measure – Act II scene 4 Featuring: Shannon R. Davis
2017-11-1919 minShakespeare Sundays with Chop BardWho Will Believe You?Angelo – Measure For Measure – Act II scene 4 Featuring: Alex Hall
2017-11-1218 min
Shakespeare Sundays with Chop BardFearful DreamDuke of Clarence – Richard III – Act I scene 4 Special Halloween show. No analysis, just Clarence's nightmare.
2017-10-2904 min2017-10-2232 min2017-10-1526 min
2017-09-2424 min
Shakespeare Sundays with Chop BardI Would Eat His HeartBeatrice — Much Ado About Nothing— Act IV scene 1
2017-09-1726 min
2017-09-1016 min
2017-08-2723 min
Chop Bard66 The Live Episode!Variations on Taming of The Shrew, performed by Ehren Ziegler and Kymberly Tuttle- Recorded live at CraftLit live: New York by Knit! Hosted at Soho Gallery for Digital Art. A good time was had by all! www.sohodigart.com
2011-09-161h 12