Mojo, The Bard, & Me

 

Today’s Totally Random Lines

                                             

Methinks I am a prophet new-inspired

And thus, expiring, do foretell of him:

His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,

For violent fires soon burn out themselves;

Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short;

He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;

With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder:

Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,

Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.

 

John of Gaunt

King Richard the Second         Act II, Scene i, Line 31

                                  

Today's Totally Random Line is the beginning of a very well-known speech; at least to anyone who has spent any time with Will’s works. Different parts of this speech have been quoted by everyone from me to Winston Churchill, so let’s talk about it for a minute. 

First, context; and this is going to go on for a bit, so you might want to consider bailing now.

Remember that Edward III had a whole bunch of kids, many of them males. Yes, that’s right, I’m really going back to Edward III. His oldest son, Edward the Black Prince, predeceased his father, so that when Edward III died, the son of Edward the Black Prince became king. That was Richard the Second. So now, you have a young man becoming king, and a bunch of older, wiser uncles (the other sons of Edward III) looking on. Eventually it is the son of one of these uncles, Richard's first cousin, who decides that he is more suited to being king and dethrones Richard the second. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. 

Richard, at least according to Will, and certainly some historians, was not a very good ruler. In today’s scene we have John of Gaunt, one of the uncles of Richard talking. John is on his deathbed speaking with one of the other uncles about what a louse their nephew Richard is, what a rotten king he is, and how he’s ruining England. He goes on for quite a few lines talking about beautiful, sacred England before pronouncing that because of Richard it

Is now leased out—I die pronouncing it—

Like to a tenement or pelting farm (a paltry or petty homestead).

England, bound in with the triumphant sea,

Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege

Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,

With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds;

That England, that was wont to conquer others,

Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.

Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,

How happy then were my ensuing death!

I had to finish that section of the speech, and I’m going to get political here, so heads up.

Now, I think that if you changed just a very few lines in this speech (mainly transpose America for England), you would get a semblance of how so many of us feel right now. Richard the Second surrounded himself with sycophants and did a very poor job of running the country, as John of Gaunt readily points out. But it seems to me that the major emotion that John is expressing is a sadness for his country, not a hatred towards his nephew Richard. Don’t get me wrong: he's not happy with Richard, and he spends the first nine lines talking about him. But the focus of most of what he goes on about after that, is England, and the worry that he has for it.

So too, I think, that is where I’m at. I don’t want to talk about the guy running the country right now. Oh sure, I don’t think much of him as a person, or a so-called leader, but I have no control over what he is. No, what really concerns me is not him, it’s my home, America; and even more so, the home that my children or grandchildren will be ending up with.

John of Gaunt was right to worry, because the reign of Richard II descended into civil strife that lasted the better part of a century. 

I can only hope our current situation does not reverberate so drastically into the future.

Here's the full speech of John of Gaunt. Please believe me when I tell you that it is well worth the read. 

Methinks I am a prophet new-inspired

And thus, expiring, do foretell of him:

His rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,

For violent fires soon burn out themselves;

Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short;

He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;

With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder:

Light vanity, insatiate cormorant,

Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.

This royal throne of kings, this scepter’d isle,

This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,

This other Eden, demi-Paradise;

This fortress built by Nature for herself

Against infection and the hand of war;

This happy breed of men, this little world,

This precious stone, set in the silver sea,

Which serves it in the office of a wall,

Or as a moat defensive to a house,

Against the envy of less happier lands;

This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,

This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,

Fear’d by their breed, and famous by their birth,

Renowned for their deeds as far from home,--

For Christian service and true chivalry,--

As in the sepulchre, in stubborn Jewery,

Of the world’s ransom, blessed Mary’s Son;--

This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land,

Dear for her reputation through the world,

Is now leased out—I die pronouncing it—

Like to a tenement or pelting farm

England, bound in with the triumphant sea,

Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege

Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,

With inky blots, and rotten parchment bonds;

That England, that was wont to conquer others,

Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.

Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,

How happy then were my ensuing death!

Mojo, being apolitcal, wishes to abstain from any participation in today's post. 

I must respect his wishes.