Considering King Lear and others
Published
Topic
Juvenilia
But if a weevil rot my spongy brain
what eyes will hang in my bare sockets then?
What dear spring will take and nurse
my thousand gaping mouths,
Will hold and hush my hundred jarring cries?
Behind what cheating eyes can I hide all that hurts?
Into what smooth and polished hands receive the welter of a world?
No confines here, oh no neat packages.
What, then, clean knife to cut, or heat to seal,
or wet to wash where water cannot clean,
or balm to pour where soothing cannot heal.