"The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand,And, touching hers, make blessèd my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight!
For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night."
- Romeo, Act I, Scene 5
Ugliness shall not stand,
the putrid way of sullen boors lacks all
and does not walk upon the stretch of time.
True beauty, real love
rise to the wondrous impasses of thought
a dwelling for the daring and the bold.
Of Heaven, Asgard, and Valhalla,
those heroes of soul and mind, the more
than the lowly, the dogs that prey upon the weak
they uninspired beasts, of the Devil -
the ambitions of dust.
Run forth, cretans, and not to the fore
ne'er to ascertain the airy vault of ambitious reason
nor to seek the best of yourself or your kind
but to happily scrape the corners of your dusty hovels
revel insipid sure.
And you, as if in no degree unmoved from that of an infant
dimly salivating. When hungry, feast upon a teat of anything
A cage of mind, uninspired, solely in one's self:
A deplorable cage indeed.
A call then, to the passionate, that they should now beat their breast
and howl at the beast, howl for the righteousness
and a call for all that's best. For we must demand,
if in desperation then, dignity.
Lost in petty things, and strewn upon the streets
Like fodder for this age.
Rally! Fight! Not in thy mind, but with a fist
and upon your feet, putting cowardice aside
in as long as to fell the braggart dogs!
Imperatives impart themselves
in peace, and imperatives must
be fought to won.
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