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Monday, December 21, 2009

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Blech. If you have to explain it, all the fun and surprise is gone.

I am reminded of the entry of the lion in the play within a play in "A Midsummer Night's Dream":
You, ladies, you, whose gentle hearts do fear
The smallest monstrous mouse that creeps on floor,
May now perchance both quake and tremble here,
When lion rough in wildest rage doth roar.
Then know that I, one Snug the joiner, am
A lion-fell, nor else no lion's dam;
For, if I should as lion come in strife
Into this place, 'twere pity on my life.
I wonder if the editors' meetings about the need for a prologue were as ridiculous as the discussions among the actors in the old play.
I grant you, friends, if that you should fright the
ladies out of their wits, they would have no more
discretion but to hang us: but I will aggravate my
voice so that I will roar you as gently as any
sucking dove; I will roar you an 'twere any
nightingale.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, the Beatles:

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