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Summer Night's Dream (part - to be cont'd)

Frank E Gibbard

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Frank E Gibbard

what inspired and is true about this is I bought all Shakespeare's works on Amazonkindle for about a tenner (modern magic or what) this is about meeting WS in a dream it's going to be too long to post in one go, 2nd part to follow when I finish it ~~~~~~~~~~~~~hope someone has the patience please.



Dramatis Personae:

Frank E Gibbard: an amateur poet

William Shakespeare: well known genius


Part One (to be continued)


"What is this infernal machine I see before me?"

said William Shakespeare, for he it was chez moi

I tell you.The bard poked at it with a goose quill.

"It's a kindle, verily, good Will if I may call you so,

said I. "Kindle?" ejaculated Shakespeare unmerrily.

"William me would you sirrah, we are not yet fast

friends stranger as I recall, I know you not a jot at

all. All's not well I trow and hath a very rotten smell,

I would not trust thee as far as my gamest servant

could throw." To be thus in parlay with him my idol

was much beyond any a minor writer's major thrill,

the things he could vouchsafe to me if he only will.


Now to butter him up I must sweeten the cup by skill,

I mused, "Look Mr Shakespeare I enthused for 'twill

as you might say, display thy name as on a local bill."

He held said kindle to his eye, tried to bend it vainly,

"Ay I see it writ large, but 'tis no parchment, plainly.

No folio of mine I could not untwine, is it perchance

the workings of the devil?" "Sorry Will, and I'm strictly

on the level," I said, "you're dead, in my modern times;

this tablet scribed with all your plays and golden rhymes,

for such a paltry cost a mere ten pounds and ninety nine.

Within is all you may or may not just have ever penned,

but I won't go there, worry not, I think that's simply rot

green-eyed jealously shall we say, as in your Othello?"


"Ten pounds say you, I dead? What is't? Odd fellow!

You plague me with a gnat's distraction, taunt me not,

cast off your spell, return o foul daemon to your Hell.

What means it thieving of all my work for but thy mite

of money? How could this iniquity be, that sits not well

with me? My returns for kingship, kinship: my royalty,

vested in thee? What pish is this? Your wish a father

to your vainglorious thought, an uproarious surmise

this may surprise but I am of a robust glorious health,

'tis my wealth thou prize and seem to seek by stealth.

I am averse to those who wouldst unpurse my person."


"Bill! Bill!" I blurted out in some confusion, beckoning

"Allow me to show you Will, I will settle the reckoning

for you, so you shall see it's no illusion but true reality."

A button push later my visitor's becalmed sitting down,

The Bard saw who knows for in how long a time, poetry,

his own timeless verses delineated via a pixelled page;

our greatest writer to many the finest of this, or any age,

absorbed in unaccustomed electric light reading a sonnet;

fingers tracing my kindle's face, and every word upon it.


All fourteen lines, I close observed as my own Shakespeare

mutely mouthed each syllable. Tears welled up and dropped

down on his stiff neck ruffle, he mopped now moist eyes with

a kerchief and after wiping away a sniffle on his doublet's cuff

spoke "How can my poem be?" he said to me, "In your evil box,

'twas ague caused my leaky eyes, the damned relic of the pox.

"You're in twenty twelve says I, "A ghost, like Hamlet's old man.

"How many writers will get to see their future, yet you can?"


Your fame persists to to-day an RSC still exists and thrives."

"What is this RSC? You'd make a ghost of me, thy vile lies!"

"The Royal Shakespeare Company Will, atop the bill .. still!

Our strange devices d'you see convey your plays, globally.

Oh and there's a new Globe Theatre, they only ever feature

your genius; one snag - did you write them? Sorry mentioning

that, dear friend." "Friend? friend? This interview is at an end,

I am no friend, or ghost, 'tis but a dream, soon I will, awake

to God's blessed day." "Hold on Shake, no need to break a stay,

don't get your pantaloons in a twist mate the world's your stage,

just wait. Door's not locked, don't use it you'd be shocked past

any measure, by the way "Measure for Measure," bit of a mess?

Don't stress Mr S. It's still such a hoot those geezers in a dress."

"What! Did I write? Who questions, say you, geezers? Foreign is

thy tongue, methinks thee mad or phantom of a fevered mind 'tis

enough, I tire and crave libation, be gone, God grant my liberation."


"Well you can't drink 'cos you're a ghost writer, sort of, God that's funny.

As for doing all that are attributed, you may as well know that's disputed.

Let me take you back to your future .." In just a tick, a quick Wiki look'd

do the trick, it's all on his page and may dissuage his doubts, yes. I said:

"Hey Will look in here, it is fully explained, you may be pained (gulp) by

the d.o.d. Oh never mind ... but look at the success you had while dead."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ to be continued~~~

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David W. Parsley

I like it!


- Dave

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