Today is the 400th annniversary of Shakespeare’s death. In Denmark, they are honoring the great writer with a professional performance of Hamlet on the grounds of the Kronberg Castle and allowed visitors the chance to stay overnight in the castle. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/shakespeare-hamlet-castle-denmark_us_5703d470e4b083f5c608e02d OH, I wanted to be there so badly and was bummed when the date didn’t work for my family. But, that didn’t stop me! I planned the next best thing – a summer vacation along the Danish Riviera to see a different live performance on the grounds. http://kongeligeslotte.dk/en/palaces-and-gardens/kronborg-castle/hamlet-2016/hamlet-live.html While it won’t be the ever so famous English theatre performers, it will still be an enjoyable family experience. I cannot wait!
If you want to brush up on your history in an easy-to-read style, I recommend this humorous Book , currently only 1.99 on iTunes – https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/shakespeare/id360623966?_bbid=1818337&mt=11
Now enjoy two sonnets of our famous friend to honor his life and National Poetry Month together –
FEAR NO MORE
Fear no more the heat o’ the sun;
Nor the furious winter’s rages,
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney sweepers come to dust.
Fear no more the frown of the great,
Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke:
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Nor the all-dread thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;
Thou hast finished joy and moan;
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.
No exorciser harm thee!
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!
ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
Until next time –