10th August 2016

Notice of motion.

William Shakespeare.


The Hon. MARK PEARSON (11:04): I move:

That this House:

(a)commemorates William Shakespeare’s death four hundred years ago, which was certainly only the shedding of the genius’ mortal coil;

(b)notes that his brilliant and unparalleled crafting of words and rhyme through drama, poetry and song will live on forever;

(c)acknowledges that he was a wordsmith whose oeuvres very few artists have ventured anywhere near and not one has surpassed;

(d)acknowledges that through the instrument of his art, humankind has enjoyed insights and revelations into its own complex being and indeed all of the mysteries of nature, including the voiceless, that is, but only to our recognised tongues, animals; and

(e)notes that this great man gripped his quill to reveal the plight of a hunted hare, the words forthwith so apt for a controvert nigh before this House:

And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,

Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles

How he outruns the wind and with what care

He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles:

The many musets through the which he goes

Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.

Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep.

To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell,

And sometime where earth-delving conies keep,

To stop the loud pursuers in their yell,

And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer:

Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear:

For there his smell with others being mingled,

The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt,

Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled

With much ado the cold fault cleanly out;

Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies,

As if another chase were in the skies.

By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill,

Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear,

To hearken if his foes pursue him still:

Anon their loud alarums he doth hear;

And now his grief may be compared well

To one sore sick that hears the passing-bell.

Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch

Turn, and return, indenting with the way;

Each envious brier his weary legs doth scratch,

Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay:

For misery is trodden on by many,

And being low never relieved by any.

Motion agreed to.