I am a bear. Hath not a bear eyes?
To forage or not to forage, that is the question:
Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to hunger
for the nuts and berries of outrageous fortune
Or to hibernate in before the coming chills of winter,
And by opposing to sleep at all. To eat- to sleep-
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The hunger, and the thousand natural shocks
That the stomach is heir to. ‘Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To hunger- to sleep.
Hath not a bear paws, muzzle, dimensions, senses, affections, passions,
Fed with the same honey, hurt by the same bees
subject to the same hunters, maul by the same claws?
Warm’d and cool’d by the same winter and summer, as a moose is?
If you prick us, do we not roar?
If you tickle us, do we not bear hug?
If you poison us, do we not get tummy aches?
And if you wrong us, do we not revenge?
If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that.
But, soft! what light through yonder tree bows breaks?
It is the east, and Honey is the sun.
Fall down, fair honey, and kill my paining hunger,
Who is already rumbly and grumbly from this morning’s breakfast,
That mine lunch art far more fair than breakfast:
Be not that meal, since it is envious;
Those berries were but sick and green
And none but cubs would eat them; cast them off.
It is my lunch, O, it is my love!
O, that sweetness knew it were!
It drips yet it still stays above my head: what of that?
Her hive discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold, ‘tis not to me it drips:
The sweetest liquid gold in all the lands,
Having some business, do entreat that hive
To twinkle against the comb till they return.
What if the liquid were there, they in those combs?
The brightness of that hive would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a cave; her gold in those walls.
Would through the dark region stream so bright
That bats would sleep and think it were not night.
See, how it continues to flow above my head!
O, that I were a bee upon that gold,
That I might touch that gold!
Shakesbear wanted to break out of his typecast role in Twelfth Night.
SHAKESPEARE IN THE PARK