From The Lost Acts Of Shakespeare:
Scene III. A fire burns in the middle of the woods. The full moon can be seen in the background. POLONIUS stands by the fire, warming his hands. FEANE enters, dejectedly.
Polonius:
Hark, comrade!
Feane:
Hark.
Polonius:
Thou seemst sad and weary of life, Feane;
what botherst thou?
Feane:
Truly, you have espied my mood
as easily as an eagle spots a rat.
Oh! And my mood is a large dark rat
gnawing at my soul.
(sighs)
I speak without iambic pentameter,
I am so divest of good cheer.
Polonius:
Then sit by this roaring fire,
that doest drive away the chill,
and tell me of your problems.
For if I can help, I will.
Feane:
I pray then, please explain
the meanderings of women. My heart hurts,
and my head is in pain,
and I understand them not.
They change their minds on the slightest whim;
can go from angel to harpy in an instant.
The truth is a wispish cloud to them,
something that binds them only in passing
as fleeting as a fog.
How can a man make sense of this?
Polonius:
Not all women are as fickle as a whim,
though they are rare indeed.
Forsooth, I have had my own encounters
that have befuddled me greatly
until I doubted my own sanity.
But, it does boil down to this:
one goes receive what one demands.
If you accept a woman mecurial,
you will always have a woman mecurial.
Feane:
I despair, at times.
Polonious:
Truly, as do we all.
I fear that women are not to be understood
by mortal man, and any man that claims he knows
the fairer sex is, by right,
a charlatan, or a fool. It matters not.
The understanding of women, I think,
is as far and unattainable as the moon.
Feane:
I think thoust are correct.
(thinks)
But…
(thinks)
the moon is very pretty, is it not?
Polonios:
Aye, the moon is pretty, my friend.
(both men stare at the moon)
(end scene)
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