Sweets to the sweet as

New Zealand songs rendered as Shakespearean sonnets.

[sweetstothesweetas]

Jesus I Was Evil

Past is the tense in which I set this rhyme: My words and deeds, yet undefin’d, were many, But didst I sway a babe a single time  Or strike a solitary maid? Not any!

Past are my days of banquet interloping, Of driving Roman coaches to their ruin, Yet worldly travels for the sake of mopping  And mowing would not yet be my undoing.

For now I aid in widow’s ambulations And buff my buskins ‘til they weep with lustre, Reap crops for nameless vagrants’ mastications, Enreat with all the fervour I may muster.

I writhe my reminiscent tongue and sigh O God, but what a man of sin was I!

[sweetstothesweetas]

Lydia

Am I surpris'd to see thee here with her, This strumpet Lydia? Oh so nice a girl! From thy demeanour I can but infer That I be quartz and she the rarest pearl!

Is't true she's easier to adore than I? My baby, wantest thou of me no more When Lydia's warm of arm and wide of thigh? Her smile like La Gioconda's I deplore!

Oh nay! I rightly must my falsehood chide, Since Lydia's of the kind to challenge thee Where I would slap thee down then run and hide, So treat her right, I ask thee verily.

Take this not as a sharp sororal scold - Thou art the cad. Against her I nought hold.

[sweetstothesweetas]

Playlist

We send now a "shout-out" to lib'rykris, Collector-Chief of ev'ry single tune, Who of her own volition fashion'd this: A sweet-as playlist! Go on, have a hoon.

[sweetstothesweetas]

Can't Get Enough

Perchance I wonder'd 'pon a kindly star Of whether thou couldst render me some aid. I caution thee: mine's a conundrum rare That maketh men scream out, their will decay'd.

My drummers now return with yen to beat. A lutenist vaults a theorbo grand And like a nimble hare is quick of feet - So says the mistress of the beetle's band.

A moth sticks by a trancing, flick'ring fire As masons guilded labour at their toil. I call to them, "O brothers, let's retire! A warrior back-flips like a launchèd coil."

I will consume thee like a cream-filled puff! Can't get enough, no, I can't get enough.

-- --

And here it is, for hers, or his, or hers In bick'ring sim'lar to their marriage vows! Alas, I will be, in this second verse, Having an abundance of platonic relationships reminiscent of my man, Mike Plato.

I walk'd the street and scream'd "I'm blind!", and yet No soul remark'd my agonising woe. I must have lost my mind; I couldn't get Another, couldn't get another, no.

And like a praetor's guard, an oath I've sworn To keep secure this humble village green. The dogs of war have savag'd, ripp'd and torn This land. I now keep home a normal scene.

These sweet rhymes fashion I straight from my cuff! Can't get enough, no, I can't get enough.

-- --

An obstacle! Oh no, these sonnets run Until the author findeth how to scale Their height, their width, their depth; oh no, not one Direction can he take to end this tale.

Oh rock my soul! These words turn stranger still; By now the author's standards are less picky. Who cares now for precision words to fill? A thing'majig! A what's-its-name! Doohickey!

Doolittle speaks of rain in Aragon That parachute-like pantaloons can't touch. And then I, euh, um, euh, no words anon! My stammer pounds my aching head so much.

This groove I've dress'd in Jacobean ruff. I think, by now, we've fin'lly got enough!

[sweetstothesweetas]

I Got You

So now that thou art mine, I am repleted, And feel that no forgetting haunts me more. The world without calls not, within, completed, Our cries of loving reach not out of door.

Looking on you, I see such full regalia, The very pinnacle of heart’s desire, That satisfaction draws forth fear of failure — Then tell me, tell me, is this our true fire?

O, all with you my crying doubt is stayed, But all depriv'd of you I keep my room, Uncertain where your wanderings are strayed That me to such anxiety can doom.

Nor know I how such fears in me should work Since in my eyes you see no falsehood lurk.

[sweetstothesweetas]

Hold Me 1

Thou art, I know, of the celestial sphere, And hast come over tiresome way, apace – But of this now I gladly would not hear: Oh, take me, take me in thy close embrace!

Or my or thy self, I know thou dost break; Familiar is thy nature, serpentine – But these things, of the which we but now spake, I would not hear of more for present time.

Ask not of me, to let thee know wherefore: I’ll make no answer of a spoken kind – No, of such matter let us speak not more, But let our arms now close our bodies bind.

I’d not now hear thee speak in such a sort: Thy smile belies the deeds’ sinful report.

[sweetstothesweetas]

How Bizarre

Oh Brother, sister, ride with me apace ‘Til guardsman halts us in sun’s blazing heat. Good sister, do not fear nor hide thy face: ‘Tis but our carriage that he wills to greet.

Uncertain end as we stop for respite. A playbill brings forth long-lost childish glee; A circus offers grand burlesque delight — Say aye, my siblings! That we’re off to see.

Alas, I fear, the show shall not go on: The pachyderms are lost, naught left but clowns. We flee the crowd before they see us gone And seek out happier tales in brighter towns.

And though I turn around ‘tis never far: My mind is quite distracted, how bizarre!

[sweetstothesweetas]

Mr Moon

O! Good Sir Moon, I like the way thou think'st: How noble in thy manner, and how wise! Tell me again, as from my cup thou drink'st, Of how the old shall sink, and new shall rise.

Sir Moon, thou art the envy of the town: And other men mistake thee as a star. But care not I for those who'd pull thee down: Change not for them! Thy form is better far.

Sir Moon, thou walk'st upon the water's face; Thou shin'st like oil upon machinery. If thou shouldst fall from out thy heav'nly place, I would, alone, so much the meaner be.

For there's no thing that I need half so much, Sir Moon, as now to feel thy golden touch.

[sweetstothesweetas]

Anchor Me

Full fathom five someday my bones will lie. Beneath the waves I’ll sing my siren songs. As from above I hear the Banshees cry, My voice will harmonise with dead men’s tongues.

The whirlpool compass spins and drags me round; The storm rolls in, the glass begins to fall. Upon the hour the bells of sea-nymphs sound, As high above the seagulls wheel and call.

Green waves, as big as churches, roar and crash Within the hearts of ocean-going men, The salt spray, on their shiv’ring skin, a lash: You lift me high, and pull me down again.

Here anchor’d in your love, so rich and strange, I shall not fade, but suffer a sea-change.

[sweetstothesweetas]

George

In faith, no love for me in thee can dwell, and, touching flesh, thy hand imparts foul mood. Engage my soul in use most foul of hell, Hoist high the noose, enrobe me in thy hood.

'Tis naught but truth that I desire from thee Thou call’st me singled minded; I protest. This portrait’s thine, thy hand in this script seen No names have I, but soon all names I’ll wrest.

Beat back the boughs and brambles to my door! I’d know thee all: give me wherefore and why. Speak forth again those things said oft before: Tell me thy gospel, and impart no lie.

And yet, agreement may be reached ere long; Foul fate shall find thee if thou dost me wrong.

[sweetstothesweetas]

Loyal

Rememb'rance of my thanks is fleeting now, The miles between us stretch each passing day. Too close for comfort? Closer still, I vow! Time marches on, and steals us both away.

And though our love be tender, we must part, The notes I'll send thee briefer than before. Would it were diff'rent! Though, within thy heart Thou know'st it were not so. Tarry no more!

Upon the fields of war, flung far and used, Allegiance is a banner torn by fear. The hopes and dreams of men become confused: We wait -- for what? Love's history's unclear.

Thy truth shall prove the merit of thy toil: If thou wouldst likewise, I would call thee loyal.

[sweetstothesweetas]

When You Come Back Home

Some men there are, would prune thy verdant shoots To their small height, and so make thee their slave. They say they’d have all equal - but in sooth They’d have thee not much higher than a grave.

Some men would bring thee to their stature low, That they may lightly trip thee by thy heels. Thy good in sight, this good they do not know; They’d know no good, though crushed by good’s own wheels.

When all would bring thee down, as a command Makes once a forte viol pianissimo, There is a place that alway thou shalt stand Welcome, whate’er thou say’st - there canst thou go.

Speak me thy day: beset, though not alone, Thou’lt find me waiting when thou com’st back home.

[sweetstothesweetas]

Sweet Disorder

Beneath my skin's where everybody sleeps. 'Tis hard to credence, but I promise you Each little sprite and faerie softly creeps And courses through my narrow channels blue.

I close mine eyes; Queen Mab extends her wand To dust her charm. Why rue a spirit spry? The breath I am receiving flies beyond The twinkling stars that fall from heavens high.

And someone's been elected in these halls; There's nix in his delusive, vacant look. He figments men in space but talks to walls And speaks more falsehoods: "I am not a crook."

Oh, such a sweet disorder of the mind Is likewise rare, a precious change to find.

[sweetstothesweetas]

Forever Tuesday Morning

Depart thou not! For thee I'll badly pine; I'm not the kind that likes to be put down. Thou wouldst become my figment Colombine If I be sole inside with Pierrot's frown.

I craft no singing-in-the-rain cliché, Instead I hide within my dwelling meek. I haven't seiz'd the guts to go away; The world is wickèd for a man so weak.

I'd give up ev'ry thing I own for thee! Now humble, I consume a nothing pie. Must I await our meeting foolishly? I pray, yet mine entreaties but belie.

I call thee rose; thou prickst me with thy thorn. Without thee, life's forever Tuesday morn.

[sweetstothesweetas]

Scorpio Girls

Ooh ooh ooh, what am I suppos'd to do? I'm baffled by what motions are in train. Is one my star-cross'd lover fated true, Or are they too debauch'd to entertain?

Suck'd by the strongest current of the sea, I swim against their charms like finless cod. Oh, were I unconcern'd! A monkey free Would never cry despairingly to God.

Astrology compels them to my door. Magnetic luminàries, Devil's fruit! I try to hide but they return once more; These strumpets play my hungry enzyme's lute.

Despite my plaintive cries in verse and prose, They rock my world, these Scorpi-orpi-os.

[sweetstothesweetas]

Trippin'

Mine intellect was little us'd anon; My faculties were exercisèd not; Mine eyes had nothing worth to gaze upon; An aimless saunt'ring life was once my lot.

A melancholy clouded ev'ry season. The ravages of time did me not kind, For I had giv'n myself a solid reason To close that door, to seek not ties to bind.

But now, thy siren visage doth compel A whirling and a shaking that portend My great excitement. Why must these signs tell? I'm ringing loud, oh would that this bell end!

Without a shade of falsehood: verily First we met, I was tripping out on thee.

[sweetstothesweetas]

Whatever Happened to Tracey

On Whitsun eve, we sped upon the road; Together we had no distinctive aim. With sun sunk down and sky a shade of woad, From Venus, Cupid's folly fired my dame.

"Oh, verily when I reach water's bounds, I tread not," in the attic spake she me. "Shall we to bed? Let's hear the far-off sounds Of Saint Cecilia and Terpsichore."

We kiss'd, our eyes were clos'd, oh whoa, by heaven! I held her fast, we held each other dear. A horseback jaunt and music to eleven, These moments sweet rise but from yesteryear.

This band of readers fine, I turn and face ye: Tell me, whatever happen'd to my Tracey?