So then, you hope of pardon from Lord Angelo?
-Duke
Measure for Measure Act II, Scene i, Line 1
Without getting into a lot of context, Duke is talking to Claudio who is, if I'm not mistaken, sentenced to death. And while today's Totally Random line is not that amazing, the Dukes next lines, after Claudio's response, really are pretty amazing. I was talking to my friend Donald recently, and he brought up the subject of spending time thinking about death. He was talking about a holy day that was set aside for that, and I can't remember if it was Jewish or Buddhist, or something else. In any event, I will give him this passage.
I meditated on it this morning. I'm can't seem to find the right word to describe this passage, let's just settle for really, really good. And it requires some meditation to appreciate it. So be prepared for that. To start you off, when Duke says 'Be absolute' he means 'be resolved, or settled in mind.' So here is the entirety of Duke's response when Claudio says 'I have hope to live, and am prepared to die.'
Be absolute for death; either death or life
Shall thereby be the sweeter, Reason thus with life:--
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art,
Servile to all the skyey influences
That do this habitation, where thou keep'st,
Hourly afflict: merely, thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun,
And yet runn'st toward him still. Thou art not noble;
For all th'accommodations that thou bear'st
Are nursed by baseness. Thou'rt by no means valiant;
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm. Thy best of rest is sleep,
And that thou oft provokest; yet grossly fear'st
Thy death, which is no more. Thou art not thyself;
For thou exists on many a thousand grains
that issue out of dust. Happy thou art not;
For what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get,
And what thou hast, forgett'st. Thou art not certain;
For thy complexion shifts to strange affects,
After the moon. If thou art rich, thou'rt poor;
For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none;
For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire,
The mere effusions of thy proper loins,
Do curse the gout, serpigo, and the rheum,
For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor youth nor age,
But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep,
Dreaming on both; for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
Of palsied eld; and when thou art old and rich,
Thou has neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,
To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this
That bears the name of life? Yet in this life
Lie hid moe thousand deaths: yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.
Like I said, you're going to have to spend a little time with it. But if you do, I believe you will find it worthwhile. Good luck!
This seems like a pretty good picture to get you in a meditative mood. Plus, it's got the sunset thing going for it; that whole sunrise, sunset - life and death motif.
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