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Post by María Sheila de Lefévre on Sept 15, 2008 12:38:20 GMT -5
*María smiled up at him, proud to show him this edition of his book. It was a rare edition, that her father had given to her on her 12th birthday. She looked up at Will again, smiling.*
"I love everything you have written, Will. Why don't you read for me one of your own favorites. It will be precious to me, having my favorite poet reading for me."
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Post by Will Shakespeare on Sept 15, 2008 12:47:55 GMT -5
*Will's lips tightened for a moment. It was not as if he had a favorite, though some he liked more than others. He tried to pick something well enough, though he did not read it, for he did not need to.*
"Alack! what poverty my Muse brings forth, That having such a scope to show her pride, The argument all bare is of more worth Than when it hath my added praise beside! O! blame me not, if I no more can write! Look in your glass, and there appears a face That over-goes my blunt invention quite, Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace. Were it not sinful then, striving to mend, To mar the subject that before was well? For to no other pass my verses tend Than of your graces and your gifts to tell; And more, much more, than in my verse can sit, Your own glass shows you when you look in it."
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Post by María Sheila de Lefévre on Sept 15, 2008 12:51:56 GMT -5
*María clapped, then wiped a tear from her eyes, deeply touched by the lovely sonnet.*
"It was beautiful, Will. Thank you. Would you read me another one as well?"
*She looked pleadingly up at him.*
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Post by Will Shakespeare on Sept 15, 2008 12:54:09 GMT -5
*Will sighed, opening the book, picking up where he left off.*
"To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I ey'd, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold, Have from the forests shook three summers' pride, Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd, In process of the seasons have I seen, Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. Ah! yet doth beauty like a dial-hand, Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv'd; So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv'd: For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred: Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead."
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Post by María Sheila de Lefévre on Sept 15, 2008 13:16:04 GMT -5
*María looked up at him and smiled again.*
"Thank you, Will. I love the way you write. Where did you get all your inspiration from, to write lovely poems like these?"
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Post by Will Shakespeare on Sept 15, 2008 13:23:47 GMT -5
*Will shut the book gently, offering it back to her.*
"Inspiration comes from many places. And..." *He sighed.* "...it often refuses to be forced."
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Post by María Sheila de Lefévre on Sept 15, 2008 13:27:00 GMT -5
*María smiled and took the book, stroking it gently, before placing it on the chair beside her.*
"I have heard many great artists say the same. About the inspiration refusing to be forced. When do you feel most inspired?"
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Post by Will Shakespeare on Sept 15, 2008 16:43:15 GMT -5
*Will shrugged, lifting his mug of ale and downing half of it in one go.*
"It's hard to remember. It has been some time."
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Post by María Sheila de Lefévre on Sept 15, 2008 16:46:39 GMT -5
*María looked up at him in childlike wonder when she noticed how fast he was downing his beer. She knew she could never drink beer like that. But of course, she didn't like the smell of beer either. She sipped her wine gently and looked up at him.*
"Well, if you had the opportunity to write again, would you try to write something?"
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Post by Will Shakespeare on Sept 15, 2008 16:50:48 GMT -5
*Will let out a hollow chuckle.*
"Well, I never stopped trying..."
*It had kind of died on its own. With him.*
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Post by María Sheila de Lefévre on Sept 15, 2008 16:58:13 GMT -5
*María smiled.*
"Great. If I get you some pens, ink and paper tomorrow, will you try to write something?"
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Post by Will Shakespeare on Sept 15, 2008 17:10:04 GMT -5
*Will's eyes grew sad.*
"You can bring me them and I can try to write, but I have not been successfully inspired since..."
*He glanced down.* "I passed."
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Post by María Sheila de Lefévre on Sept 15, 2008 17:16:24 GMT -5
*María looked back at him. Her heart filled with compassion when she saw his eyes growing sad.*
"Oh, Will. I'm so sorry. I wish I could do something to help you."
*She lifted her hand and stroke his cheek gently, trying to comfort him.*
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Post by Will Shakespeare on Sept 15, 2008 17:24:32 GMT -5
*Will just shrugged.*
"It's all right. I've started to come to terms. Besides, I wouldn't be able to really start being stuck here."
*He glanced around sheepishly.*
"I mean...it's not the sort of place I've done my best work. No offense intended."
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Post by María Sheila de Lefévre on Sept 15, 2008 17:28:06 GMT -5
*María smiled.*
"Oh, by all means. I don't get offended. You have no idea how many times I've felt trapped in this place. I wish you could have come with me to my summer house in Medici. In Italy. It is so lovely there. Have you ever been in Italy, Will?"
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