From Love’s Labour’s Lost:
But come, the bow: now mercy goes to kill,
And shooting well is then accounted ill.
Shift around the letters, and it becomes:
Does it seem too ice-glib to loudly back gun control this month?
Well, when can we?
From King Lear:
The usurer hangs the cozener.
Through tatter’d clothes small vices do appear;
Robes and furr’d gowns hide all. Plate sin with gold,
And the strong lance of justice hurtless breaks;
Arm it in rags, a pigmy’s straw doth pierce it.
Shift around the letters, and it becomes:
Drug corps and Wall Street just heave cash to Congress which then makes shady laws for them. Mitt has paid thirteen percent, or as little as zero. Super PACs run horrid or frightening ads.
O, but I don’t begrudge. It’s all legal.
From Julius Caesar:
But ’tis a common proof,
That lowliness is young ambition’s ladder,
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face;
But when he once attains the upmost round,
He then unto the ladder turns his back,
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees
By which he did ascend.
Shift around the letters, and it becomes:
Romney’s selfish White House-campaign contributors sketched doubts whether or not he cares about the despondent working class and the indomitable debt.
Now, the choice of cruel Bush-child Paul Ryan as his running mate adds insult with me. No doubts there.
From Henry VIII:
Not almost appears,
It doth appear; for, upon these taxations,
The clothiers all, not able to maintain
The many to them longing, have put off
The spinsters, carders, fullers, weavers, who,
Unfit for other life, compell’d by hunger
And lack of other means, in desperate manner
Daring the event to the teeth, are all in uproar,
And danger serves among then!
Shift around the letters, and it becomes:
Handmade internal drama rages for the GOP.
House Republicans arranged to hold up meaningful tax reform for the bottom ninety-eight percent to keep annual rates small for the top two.
Mitt’s evenhanded plan, on the other hand, graphs small rate raises on the lower ninety-five percent to then have annual rates less for the top five.
Socialist.
Sonnet CXVI:
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me prov’d,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.
Shift around the letters, and it becomes:
The hero’s vivid verse betokens what
Revision moods for marriage norms befall.
Rethinking home life won’t disturb ours, but
Denying some their rights makes shames for all.
Religious voters revved up, think again.
Deem this opinion, not like proven fact.
We minimise Him at evoking men
To harbor hidden love and not to act.
To honor same-sex lovebirds who invest
In that we vehemently do erect,
To think that love should not be too suppressed;
It tends to kick in where we least suspect.
For while the Bard was wed to Mrs. Anne,
He wrote this sonnet for another man.
This makes three in a row from the same play, but Egypt’s in the news. I envision one possible outcome of the protests.
From Antony and Cleopatra:
Some innocents ‘scape not the thunderbolt.
Melt Egypt into Nile! and kindly creatures
Turn all to serpents!
Shift around the letters, and it becomes:
Men end hell. Constant protesting stunts turn Hosni Mubarak to non-entity. People elect leaders directly.
Inspired by yesterday’s post.
From Antony and Cleopatra:
My salad days,
When I was green in judgment, cold in blood,
To say as I said then!
Shift around the letters, and it becomes:
She was swelled in a giddy bias, said “Marc Antony is the only man!”
Do not judge.
UPDATE: Click through to the comments. Dharam and I continued to have fun with this particular letter salad.
Inspired by yesterday’s post.
From Antony and Cleopatra:
Does thou not see the baby at my breast,
That sucks the nurse asleep?
Shift around the letters, and it becomes:
Bosoms bury the snake’s unsheathed teeth, test Cleopatra’s beauty.
Here’s another Shakespeare anagram that started in comments, and I thought it deserved its own post.
After a Shakespeare-anagram debate about Waiting for “Superman,” reader Dharam posted her own anagram.
From The Taming of the Shrew:
The Taming of the Shrew
Dharam shifted around the letters, and it became:
Night of Wm’s theatre, eh?
Now, shift around the letters again, and it becomes:
Wish them together, fan?
Shift around the letters one more time, and it becomes:
The woman fights there.