The son shineth freely upon thy face. Ere, hath thee thy will submerged, upon which looks a dog’s tail wagging. Cometh hither, for thine hither ere hath doth will. Willeth the wither, upon hither heather, forbidden feather? Thinkest thee proud, crumbled visage worthy of freedom’s lusty quill? Think not, fiend, then, of those who think meekly on thee?
Tis I, said the fiend, who looks upon thy bosom, as I look upon an asses flanks. For morrow’s marrow I ask not. Only for to-day’s.
Next on Where’s Wetzler?: Love’s Labour’s Lost (and Found in a Chicken Burrito): Chipotle in Shakespearean Terms
This entry was written by , posted on March 5, 2009 at 4:03 pm, filed under Writingz and tagged awesome, Chipotle, fergie, shakespeare, william. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.