This is the 34th in a series of 40 pop-music parodies for Shakespeare fans.

Enjoy!

Full Stop
sung to the tune of “Thrift Shop”

(With apologies to Macklemore, Ryan Lewis, and Wanz…)

Hey, Shakespeare! Can you write some poetry?

Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM
Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM
Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM
Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM Da DUM

ABAB CDCD EFEF GG
ABAB CDCD EFEF GG
ABAB CDCD EFEF GG
ABAB CDCD EFEF GG

I’m gonna write some verse.
Only got fourteen lines in a sonnet:
I-I-Iambic Pentameter,
With a given rhyme scheme.

Nah, take up the quill like “What up? Gonna write a lot.”
Three quatrains and a couplet ending in a full stop.
Ink on the parchment, I’m so close on it,
That people like “Damn! That’s a perfect sonnet.”
Gonna get hella deep, compare thee to a summer’s day,
But it’s all in your favor, ‘cause thou art lovelier, if I may.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Yes!
It doesn’t even have to make sense!

Thinkin’ it, Writin’ it, Let me confess that we two must be twain.
Our undivided loves are one, so shall those blots with me remain.
Sometimes I write for my favorite young man,
Or else it’s the Dark Lady and…
Starting a new one, it’s: O! How thy worth with manners may I sing?
What can praise to myself bring? What can praise to myself bring?
No, for real – what a torment would thy absence prove?
Better entertain the time with thoughts of love,
Immortalized in poetry that I’ve been writin’.
You shall shine more bright in this powerful rhyme
Than gilded monuments besmear’d with sluttish time.
Hello, Hello, Good e’en, good fellow!
Petrarch ain’t got nothing on my rhyme schemes, hell no!
I could take them to the printer, bind them up, sell those.
The tavern gang would be like “Aw, he got the Quartos.”

I’m gonna write some verse.
Only got fourteen lines in a sonnet:
I-I-Iambic Pentameter,
With a given rhyme scheme.

I’m gonna write some verse.
Only got fourteen lines in a sonnet:
I-I-Iambic Pentameter,
With a given rhyme scheme.

Let me not impede the marriage of true minds.
Love’s not love which alters when it alteration finds.
If this be, If this be error, and upon me prov’d,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.
Thank God, my mistress’s eyes are nothing like the sun.
Her hairs be wires and her breasts be dun.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
Chiasmus, Ekphrasis, Litotes, Ellipsis…
I use all those Greek devices, so much more than any other.
Though I know she lies, I believe my tender lover,
And that allows us both to be flattered by each other.
She be like “Oh, he believes me that I am full of truth.”
I’m like “O, she thinks that I am some untutored youth.”
It’s an illusion, just a mutual delusion.
Full of truth? To think that I’m a youth?
No, I think that I am long in the tooth.
But I lie with her, and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter’d be.
I still love her so.
Those lips that Love’s own hand did make
Breathed forth the sound that said “I hate,”
To me that languished for her sake,
So I wrote her a sonnet, she thought it was great.

She thought it was great.

Good Will! Write some verse! Yeah!

I’m gonna write some verse.
Only got fourteen lines in a sonnet:
I-I-Iambic Pentameter,
With a given rhyme scheme.

I share with you, my friend:
To Mr. W.H.,
These poems that I penned,
With a full stop at the end.

I share with you, my friend:
To Mr. W.H.,
These poems that I penned,
With a full stop at the end.

I’m gonna write some verse.
Only got fourteen lines in a sonnet:
I-I-Iambic Pentameter,
With a given rhyme scheme.

Is that a full stop at the end?