Liberal Forum

Skans » 09 Feb 2023, 11:05 am » wrote: ↑

09 Feb 2023, 11:05 am

Lookey here - 'ol Cannonpointer really did grow up in some Yankee-rat-infested Hood.  He can talk the Hood-talk.

Man's foremost disaster in declining life
Is a bouncing beauty as a second wife.
But though this warning's oft-told and well,
The news had failed to reach poor Hans Carvel.

Her name was Meg. The wedding quickly drew
The local studs, who, jammed into every pew
Ogled with the bold, appraising air 
Of fruit stall buyers at a market fair.

Hands off sir, please don't pinch those pretty plums -
Why, if looks were pinches and eyes grew thumbs,
Ripe, blooming Meg would soon have been abused,
Her melons, peaches, and cheeries sadly bruised;

The bridegroom, even as he pledged his vow
Felt horns a-sprouting from his fevered brow. 
Once home, he issued certain rigid rules:
No coquetry with gallants or such fools;

No secret vistis, no revealing gowns, 
No wandering unescorted about the town:
Her bible reading, sewing, and pious deeds
Are all a well-bred house wife wants or needs.

Sad to say, his preaching moved her not:
Meg listened, nodded, and as soon forgot.
And in the days that followed, she persued
Whatever light diversions siezed her mood:

To dance at balls, play cards, to promenade -
To smiles and flirt with men quite unafraid.
Poor Hans grew melancholic, for his part,
Developed ulcers and a broken heart.

Then one night when company had come to dine,
Hans soothed his fears in quantities of wine.
At last, meg bore him toddering off to bed,
Sighed as he snored, and covered up her head.

Then while in sodden dream, old Hans Carvel
Conjured a smiling devil out of hell;
"I know you troubles, friend, but here's a charm,"
The demon said, "to keep your wife from harm."

"Here, slip your finger in this pretty ring,
And while you wear it, never fear a thing."
Hans put it on - Meg awakened with a start,
With angry looks and agitated heart, 

She cried, "You drunken fool, how do you DARE
To THRUST your BEASTLY finger GOD KNOW WHERE?!"

That poem by Jean de la Fontaine is from memory - committed thereto, along with many others, for my amusement.

I can explicate Shakespeare, critiquing his princes from the perspective of a Machiavellian and his courtiers from the perspective of a Castiglionean. 

Ebonics is child's play, son.

Edit - Oh, by the way. I grew up in Texas.