If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
Injurious distance should not stop my way;
For then despite of space I would be brought,
From limits far remote where thou dost stay.
No matter then although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth removed from thee;
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But ah! thought kills me that I am not thought,
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that so much of earth and water wrought
I must attend time's leisure with my moan,
Receiving nought by elements so slow
But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.
Shakespeare'sQuill.co.uk
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Book: 'The Seven Against Thebes' - Aeschylus.
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Bart: Election next month. Your Labour friends can start lying Michael.
Michael: Do you think they'll get in?
Bart: Not this time, Bonar Law's got it all tied up. Wouldn't be a bad thing if they did: taste of office might help them grow up .... Suppose they did get in? What could they do? Cure unemployment?
Michael: They might, Bart.
Bart: I doubt it, and what else? Would they abolish the cinema? teach English women to cook? make us grow our own food? will they hang all dabblers in poison gas? destroy all bombing aeroplanes and submarines?
Michael: They could try.
Bart: And what about the possesive principle that you disapprove of? Would they abolish that? No, not on your life m'boy. No! All party politics are top dressing. We're ruled by inventors and by human nature.
Michael: Oh-hoo you have got it bad guv'ner.
Bart: But seriously, do you find reality in politics now?
Michael: Oh-hoo, do you find reality in anything now?
Bart: Income Tax, perhaps.
Michael: Such simple faith, it touches me.
Bart: Everything fine and splendid is off: no big schemes; no great principles; no far-sighted views; no great religion; no great art. Just a lot of little men in little hats.
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