- Last post
- 11 Responses
[The bowling green. Enter THE KNAVE, WALTER and DONALD, to play at ninepins]
In sooth, then, faithful friend, this was a rug of value? Thou wouldst call it not a rug
among ordinary rugs, but a rug of purpose? A star in a firmament, in step with the fashion
alike to the Whitsun morris-dance? A worthy rug, a rug of consequence, sir?
It was of consequence, I should think; verily, it tied the room together, gather’d its
qualities as the sweet lovers’ spring grass doth the morning dew or the rough scythe the
first of autumn harvests. It sat between the four sides of the room, making substance of a
square, respecting each wall in equal harmony, in geometer’s cap; a great reckoning in a
little room. Verily, it transform’d the room from the space between four walls presented,
to the harbour of a man’s monarchy.
I speak the truth; my words are straight and true.
The man of Orient birth is not the issue.
The Orient, Sir Walter?
I speak, old friend, of truths in desert land.
The hour is nigh to draw line in the sand.
Deserts? I had made it plain that he was Orient-man.
Though words in haste be only human nature,
‘Orient-man’ is not preferr’d nomenclature.
This is like something my uncle would e-mail me.
you sir, have too much time on your hands.
love it though!
It's the best thing I've ever read, period.
goddamit, now I am going to have to sit here and read this whole thing.
The knave abideth.
Hilarious, but it's just not the same without all of the "fuck's".
"Peace, miserable Donald; life will neither stop nor start at thy command."
Not to switch gears or anything, but does anyone know what Maude says on the phone to Nox Harrington (the video artist with the cleft asshole)? It sounds something like:
"It's Sandra about the Bianally."
It's Sandro, about the bienalle (art exhibit)