(From a teenage notebook of one Bill Shakspur, Stratford-on-Avon, 1578.)
Florolominio: Sweet, sweet Rosalinimundia! Hath I come to you but too late to enter your embrace that outshine’d the very Sun?
Rosalinimundia: Verily, knave, too late thou art. Another doth carry my troth now. Stew, then, in the vile pot of your own dalliance! Stew, I say!
Florolominio: 'Til the Moon shines not, shall I stew! But ere I depart, dear heart, know this: April showers bring May flowers to sweet maidens in their bowers. Ne'er hath your bower seen such throbbing as I would bring!
Rosalinimundia: Kiss me, you big--
(Here the excerpt ends.)
Saturday, April 09, 2011
This week's prompt is one of those that seems prosaic at first, but it really isn't, because it's the prosaic ones that really make one dig a bit deeper to come up with an idea. Anyway, here's mine. I went in a much sillier direction than usual....