NationStates Jolt Archive

first person to tell me the name of the poem in my sig gets a home-made cookie!

easy one to start

first person to tell me the name of the poem in my sig gets a home-made cookie!

easy one to start
Jabberwocky?

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

Jabberwocky?

Edit: Damn you Neo! You beat me to it!

right on.


here's you cookie.

*hands over fresh warm chocholate chip cookie.



okay, next round!
(author will suffice for this one)

A Metallica song?
:D

A Metallica song?
:D
no, but good try.

John Donne. No man Is an Island?

John Donne. No man Is an Island?

you guys are doin well tonight.

EDIT: Heres a cookie for you too.


New round.

And where's my cookie!?

EDIT - yay.

Shakespeare

okay, this one needs to have title and author.

As you like it. Willy S!

As you like it

right author, wrong title unless my memory is failing me.

first person to tell me the name of the poem in my sig gets a home-made cookie!

easy one to start

From "As You Like it" by William Shakespeare

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

I'll take my cookie now.

:D

Jaques?

Jaques?

Is the character that says it?

C'mon, I deserve this one - I knew who it was - posted that

Then I had to say in what it was written, and was off by mere milliseconds

Now I've gone as far as to state the person saying it!

Is the character that says it?
Indeed it is

okay, I was wrong there. Damn not having text in front of me.


Cookies for all because of my error

*hands out a plate of cookies to all participants*

next round

C'mon, I deserve this one - I knew who it was - posted that

Then I had to say in what it was written, and was off by mere milliseconds

Now I've gone as far as to state the person saying it!

I've already got my cookie. Give him/her a cookie!

and you are correct about who said it.

We both get cookies

new one everyone!

Cantebury Tales, Chaucer - too easy! :)

<--confesses, didn't know that one

Cantebury Tales, Chaucer - too easy! :)
you guys are quick.


Here's a pizookie. (big cookies with ice cream on top) :)

Actually Im off to bed now - great thread though - I hope this ones still running tomorrow! :)

you guys are quick.


Here's a pizookie. (big cookies with ice cream on top) :)
Oo! Thank you!!!! :fluffle:

new poem!

Will Shakespeare, King Richard III

EDIT: The King himself said it.

Will Shakespeare, King Richard III

EDIT: The King himself said it.
good move. *hands over the cookie*

EDIT: *yawn* I'm tired, time to go to bed.

I'll be back with many more tomorrow so we can continue the thread.

good move. *hands over the cookie*

EDIT: *yawn* I'm tired, time to go to bed.

I'll be back with many more tomorrow so we can continue the thread.

O'tay!! :D

Good thread

first person to tell me the name of the poem in my sig gets a home-made cookie!

easy one to start
Shakespere, Henry the VIII I think. :)

Edit: Oh well, at least I remembered it was Shakespere. :D

Jabberwocky?

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

OK, I must know - what in the fudge is a jabberwock? And why is it such a bitch to fight in Rogue?

first person to tell me the name of the poem in my sig gets a home-made cookie!

easy one to start



Richard III




KING RICHARD III
A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

CATESBY
Withdraw, my lord; I'll help you to a horse.

KING RICHARD III
Slave, I have set my life upon a cast,
And I will stand the hazard of the die:
I think there be six Richmonds in the field;
Five have I slain to-day instead of him.
A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!

A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!
Total misrepresentation of history again by Shakespeare. At the Battle of Bosworth, where Richard III supposedly said this, he was actually offered a horse so he could escape when the enemy were advancing on him to finish him off, but refused, because he did not want to be remembered as a king who fled from danger. Sadly, because of Tudor propaganda, that's exactly what we do remember him as.

I love this thread, but I have a suggestion for the future.

When posting an answer (or at least when BLARGistania gives a cookie), would you please post the line of the poem that was the question?

Because signatures update, you can't tell what the original poem lines were. (So it currently reads like "a horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse" was identified as being from Jabberwocky.)

While we eager await a new puzzler from BLARGistania, here's one:

One cookie for the author, two cookies for the name of the collection, and five cookies for the final two lines of the poem:

"'Terence, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victals fast enough; ..."


P.S. Google is cheating!

I don't know the one cat tribe posted

but for all you fans:

The next in the series - guess the poem in my sig.

I don't know the one cat tribe posted

but for all you fans:

The next in the series - guess the poem in my sig.
I'm stumped... :confused:

Fame haunts the man who visits hell
who lives to tell my entire tale identically
So like a sage, trickster or saint

Wild Ass Guess: Dante's Inferno

BTW, I hope you don't mind that I posted one of my own. No intention to hi-jack the thread.

I don't mind at all. If you know one, keep it going, I don't have much in the way of peotry at my house so I might be a little strained.


But no, Its not the Inferno.

This one has no cited author so title will do it.

[bump]

The Epic of Gilgamesh.

Who the hell reads Gilgamesh? Wow...

The Epic of Gilgamesh.

Who the hell reads Gilgamesh? Wow...
I just googled it and came up with that too - never heard of it/them/him/whatever

Care to give us a rundown Blarg? Youv'e certainly managed to peak my curiosity! :)

It is about a Sumerian King, Gilgamesh (first known epic, IIRC) who obsesses with death and immortality after his friend Enkidu dies. He then quests after immortality. It provided great insights into Sumerian culture.

See? I did pay attention in History this year... Once or twice :)

The Epic of Gilgamesh.

Who the hell reads Gilgamesh? Wow...


Fame haunts the man who visits hell
who lives to tell my entire tale identically
So like a sage, trickster or saint


You win the first cookie for tonight.

Gilgamesh is essentially the babylonian creation story. It is sometimes considered proof of the biblical flood because it relates essentially the same story found in the bible. Gilgamesh's brother dies and he goes on a quest through the evils and perils of the world to become an immortal.

Its actually not too bad, just obscure.

new round

:
I have another weapon in this chamber
It is the sword of spain, the ice brook's temper

I'm still impressed about the Gilgamesh one.

As for the new lines, they are spoken by Othello in Shakespeare's Othello. (I needed at least one cookie.)

Here is my challenge again:


'Terence, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victals fast enough; ...

I'll up the reward to 2 cookies for the author, five for the collection, and 20 for the last two lines.

That's though Cat-Tribe, I've never heard it. Keep that one open though, maybe someone will get it.


I have another weapon in this chamber
It is the sword of spain, the ice brook's temper


Oh yes, you get a cookie too.

*hands over cookie*

next challenge, this one's kinda obscure


we thought her dying whilst she slept
and sleeping when she died

Alfred Edward Housman
A Shropshire Lad (sp?)

(if I can find the poem online, I'll give you the last two lines - otherwise not :))

If I can, I'd like very much to add one of my own:

Death makes angels of us all
& gives us wings where we had shoulders
smooth as raven's claws

This should be easy enough, but I really like it so I wanted to share it! :)

nope, its

Its British, circa late 1700s

'Terence, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victals fast enough; ...

Alfred Edward Housman
A Shropshire Lad (sp?)

(if I can find the poem online, I'll give you the last two lines - otherwise not :))

That's six cookies for you, Lascivious Maximus!!!

I love this poem, so I'm posting it and bolding a couple of my favorite lines:

"Terence, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
It gives a chap the belly-ache.
The cow, the old cow, she is dead;
It sleeps well, the horned head:
We poor lads, 'tis our turn now
To hear such tunes as killed the cow.
Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme
Your friends to death before their time
Moping melancholy mad:
Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad."

Why, if 'tis dancing you would be
There's brisker pipes than poetry.
Say, for what were hop-yards meant,
Or why was Burton built on Trent?
Oh, many a peer of England brews
Livelier liquor than the Muse,
And malt does more than Milton can
To justify God's ways to man.
Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think:
Look into the pewter pot
To see the world as the world's not.
And faith, 'tis pleasant till 'tis past:
The mischief is that 'twill not last.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie god knows where,
And carried half-way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a sterling lad;
And down in lovely muck I've lain,
Happy till I woke again.
Then I saw the morning sky:
Heigho, the tale was all a lie;
The world, it was the old world yet,
I was I, my things were wet,
And nothing now remained to do
But begin the game anew.

Therefore, since the world has still
Much good, but much less good than ill,
And while the sun and moon endure
Luck's a chance, but trouble's sure,
I'd face it as a wise man would,
And train for ill and not for good.
'Tis true, the stuff I bring for sale
Is not so brisk a brew as ale:
Out of a stem that scored the hand
I wrung it in a weary land.
But take it: if the smack is sour,
The better for the embittered hour;
It should do good to heart and head
When your soul is in my soul's stead;
And I will friend you, if I may,
In the dark and cloudy day.

There was a king reigned in the East:
There, when kings will sit to feast,
They get their fill before they think
With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.
He gathered all that springs to birth
From the many-venomed earth;
First a little, thence to more,
He sampled all her killing store;
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
Sate the king when healths went round.
They put arsenic in his meat
And stared aghast to watch him eat;
They poured strychnine in his cup
And shook to see him drink it up:
They shook, they stared as white's their shirt:
Them it was their poison hurt
- I tell the tale that I heard told.
Mithridates, he died old.

If I can, I'd like very much to add one of my own:

Death makes angels of us all
& gives us wings where we had shoulders
smooth as raven's claws

This should be easy enough, but I really like it so I wanted to share it! :)
NM, thats a great poem

Wow, you edited before I could quote that! haha!

Do you know it then? :)

Wow, you edited before I could quote that! haha!

Do you know it then? :)

he revealed it

he revealed it
The Cat Tribe did? I haven't yet stated it... :confused:

I think I have perhaps confused myself here

I was afraid this would happen if I started posting my own poem questions in your thread, BLARGistania.

I revealed my poem. (After LM guessed the author and collection.)

I haven't guessed BG's current poem or LM's poem.

(I agree that LM's is beautiful)

Blarg, is that from Dracula? :confused: I thought this was poetry? Maybe I missed something...

If not I'm truly stumped again.

If I can, I'd like very much to add one of my own:

Death makes angels of us all
& gives us wings where we had shoulders
smooth as raven's claws

This should be easy enough, but I really like it so I wanted to share it! :)


I knew that sounded familiar. I won't guess "out loud," but this is from the same poem (right?)

(I touched her thigh
& death smiled)

I knew that sounded familiar. I won't guess "out loud," but this is from the same poem (right?)
Aye comrade! That it is :)

A personal favourite by a great poet.

If I can, I'd like very much to add one of my own:

Death makes angels of us all
& gives us wings where we had shoulders
smooth as raven's claws

This should be easy enough, but I really like it so I wanted to share it! :)

Val Kilmer.

(kind of). :)

its found within Dracula, but the author was actually a poet - not Brahm Stoker.

We have some well read people here.

its found within Dracula, but the author was actually a poet - not Brahm Stoker.

We have some well read people here.
Apparently not - thats the best I could do... any hints you can give? :confused:

OK, I'll throw out another one. If you've read the source, this will be easy.

We could play at questions.
What good would that do?
Practice!
Statement! One-love!
Cheating!
How?
I hadn't started yet!
Statement. Two-love.
Are you counting that?
What?
Are you counting that?
Foul! No repetitions. Three-love. First game to--
I'm not going to play if you're going to be like that.
Whose serve?
Hah?
Foul! No grunts. Love-one.
Who's go?
Why?
Why not?
What for?
Foul! No synonyms. One-all.
What in God's name is going on?
Foul! No rhetoric! Two-one.
What does it all add up to?
Can't you guess?
Were you addressing me?
Is there anyone else?
Who?
How would I know?
Why do you ask?
Are you serious?
Was that rhetoric?
No.
Statement! Two-all. Game point.
What's the matter with you today?
When?
What?
Are you deaf?
Am I dead?
Yes or no?
Is there a choice?
Is there a God?
Foul! No non-sequiturs, three-two, one game all.

I have to admit a primary reason for posting this is it gives me the giggles.

I haven't read the source unfortunatly.

Mine was: Thomas Hood, The Death-Bed


Keep it up, we have some very well read people here.

I'm off to bed once more. Night all.

Time for me to sleep too, its after bloody midnight and Im to be up no later than 5:30am :headbang:

This is mainly a bump, but I'll add some hints.

R: We could play at questions.
G: What good would that do?
R: Practice!
G: Statement! One-love!
R: Cheating!
G: How?
R: I hadn't started yet!
G: Statement. Two-love.
Are you counting that?
G: What?
R: Are you counting that?
G: Foul! No repetitions. Three-love. First game to--
R: I'm not going to play if you're going to be like that.
G: Whose serve?
R: Hah?
G: Foul! No grunts. Love-one.
R: Who's go?
G: Why?
R: Why not?
G: What for?
R: Foul! No synonyms. One-all.
G: What in God's name is going on?
R: Foul! No rhetoric! Two-one.
G: What does it all add up to?
R: Can't you guess?
G: Were you addressing me?
R: Is there anyone else?
G: Who?
R: How would I know?
G: Why do you ask?
R: Are you serious?
G: Was that rhetoric?
R: No.
G: Statement! Two-all. Game point.
R: What's the matter with you today?
G: When?
R: What?
G: Are you deaf?
R: Am I dead?
G: Yes or no?
Is there a choice?
G: Is there a God?
R: Foul! No non-sequiturs, three-two, one game all.

Another excerpt from the same source:
G: I think we made some headway.
R: You think so?
G: I think we can say that.
R: I think we can say he made us look ridiculous.
G: I think we played it close to the chest of course.
R(derisively): ‘Question and answer. Old ways are the best ways’! He was scoring off us all the way down the line.
G: He caught us on the wrong foot once or twice, perhaps, but I thought we gained some ground.
R(simply): He murdered us.
G: He might have had the edge.
R(roused): Twenty-seven—three, and you think he might have had the edge?! He murdered us.
G: What about our evasions?
R: Oh, our evasions were lovely. ‘Were you sent for?’ he says. ‘My lord, we were sent for’ . . . I didn’t know where to put myself.
G: He had six rhetoricals –
R: It was question and answer all right. Twenty-seven questions he got out in ten minutes, and answered three. I was waiting for you to delve. ‘When is he going to start delving?’ I asked myself.
G: – And two repetitions.
R: Hardly a leading question between us.
G: We got his symptoms, didn’t we?
R: Half of what he said meant something else, and the other half didn’t mean anything at all.
G: Thwarted ambition—a sense of grievance, that’s my diagnosis.
R: Six rhetorical and two repetition, leaving nineteen of which we answered fifteen. And what did we get in return? He’s depressed! . . .Denmark’s a prison and he’d rather live in a nutshell; some shadow-play about the nature of ambition, which never got down to cases, and finally one direct question which might have led somewhere, and led in fact to his illuminating claim to tell a hawk from a handsaw. (Pause.)
G: When the wind is southerly.
R: And the weather’s clear.
G: And when it isn’t he can’t.

I'm still giggling ...

right, time for a new round:


What fire in my ears, can this be true!
Stand I condemned for pride and scorn so much?
Contempt farewell and maiden pride adieu!
No Glory lives behind the back of such!

Emma Thompson spoke these lines. (I hope that is a clear enough guess without giving it away.)

Okay, I've added one more selection from the same source to give more hints. (Also as a bump.) The selections are in order of appearance in the original.

R: We could play at questions.
G: What good would that do?
R: Practice!
G: Statement! One-love!
R: Cheating!
G: How?
R: I hadn't started yet!
G: Statement. Two-love.
Are you counting that?
G: What?
R: Are you counting that?
G: Foul! No repetitions. Three-love. First game to--
R: I'm not going to play if you're going to be like that.
G: Whose serve?
R: Hah?
G: Foul! No grunts. Love-one.
R: Who's go?
G: Why?
R: Why not?
G: What for?
R: Foul! No synonyms. One-all.
G: What in God's name is going on?
R: Foul! No rhetoric! Two-one.
G: What does it all add up to?
R: Can't you guess?
G: Were you addressing me?
R: Is there anyone else?
G: Who?
R: How would I know?
G: Why do you ask?
R: Are you serious?
G: Was that rhetoric?
R: No.
G: Statement! Two-all. Game point.
R: What's the matter with you today?
G: When?
R: What?
G: Are you deaf?
R: Am I dead?
G: Yes or no?
Is there a choice?
G: Is there a God?
R: Foul! No non-sequiturs, three-two, one game all.

G: Glean what afflicts me.
...
G (great control): I don't think you quite understand. What we are attempting is a hypothesis in which I answer for him, while you ask me questions.
...
G: Go into details. Delve. Probe the background, establish the situation.
R: So -- so your uncle is king of Denmark?!
G: And my father before him.
R: His father before him.
G. No, my father before him.
...
R: Let me get it straight. Your father was king. You were his only son. Your father dies. You were of age. Your uncle becomes king.
G: Yes.
R: Unusual.
G: Undid me.
R: Undeniable. Where were you?
G: Germany.
R: Usurpation, then.
G: He slipped in.
R: Which reminds me.
...
R: Your mother's marriage.
G: He slipped in.
R: His body was still warm!
G: So was hers.
...
R: And with her husband's brother!
G: They *were* close.
R: She went to him...
G: Too close.
R: For comfort.
G: It looks bad.
R: Adds up.
G: Incest to adultery.
R: Would you go so far?
G: Never!
R: To sum up: your father, whom you love, dies. You are his heir. You come back to find that hardly was the corpse cold before his young brother pops onto his throne and into his sheets, thereby offending both legal and natural practice. Now... why exactly are you behaving in this extraordinary manner?
G: I can't imagine.

G: I think we made some headway.
R: You think so?
G: I think we can say that.
R: I think we can say he made us look ridiculous.
G: I think we played it close to the chest of course.
R(derisively): ‘Question and answer. Old ways are the best ways’! He was scoring off us all the way down the line.
G: He caught us on the wrong foot once or twice, perhaps, but I thought we gained some ground.
R(simply): He murdered us.
G: He might have had the edge.
R(roused): Twenty-seven—three, and you think he might have had the edge?! He murdered us.
G: What about our evasions?
R: Oh, our evasions were lovely. ‘Were you sent for?’ he says. ‘My lord, we were sent for’ . . . I didn’t know where to put myself.
G: He had six rhetoricals –
R: It was question and answer all right. Twenty-seven questions he got out in ten minutes, and answered three. I was waiting for you to delve. ‘When is he going to start delving?’ I asked myself.
G: – And two repetitions.
R: Hardly a leading question between us.
G: We got his symptoms, didn’t we?
R: Half of what he said meant something else, and the other half didn’t mean anything at all.
G: Thwarted ambition—a sense of grievance, that’s my diagnosis.
R: Six rhetorical and two repetition, leaving nineteen of which we answered fifteen. And what did we get in return? He’s depressed! . . .Denmark’s a prison and he’d rather live in a nutshell; some shadow-play about the nature of ambition, which never got down to cases, and finally one direct question which might have led somewhere, and led in fact to his illuminating claim to tell a hawk from a handsaw. (Pause.)
G: When the wind is southerly.
R: And the weather’s clear.
G: And when it isn’t he can’t.

I do apologize if this isn't a good puzzler, but the selections do still have me giggling. (It's start to hurt.)

bump

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead? I haven't actually seen it.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead? I haven't actually seen it.


YEAH!! Ten cookies for Damascue!!