18 July 2012
What's in a name? That which we call a rose
A rose so sweet, as Shakespeare spoke
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.
The lady doth protest too much,
A rose is not all thorns.
It is sweet, love's melody,
If music be the food of love, play on.
All the world's a stage, my lady, keep your heart in hand
To be, or not to be, do we really ask?
There are more things in heaven and earth, my lady.
To sleep, perchance to dream of a rose!
O lady, O love, wherefore art thou?
Such stuff as dreams are made on, though we sleep
Parting is such sweet sorrow.
The winter of our discontent begins the world of start
Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind,
Wherefore art thou, rose.
Shakespeare Interlinked • Opuss № I