…would smell as sweet.
First Robert Burns, and now Shakespeare?
During this Covid-19 pandemic, I seem to be living in an alternate universe of poetry and literature. Pretty soon, my brain will start to spontaneously remember all my years of French, and I’ll be ready for my trip to France to pay homage to the one and only Coco Chanel.
Once upon a time, in another lifetime, I memorized Juliet’s lines, Act 2, Scene 2, for an audition.
Nope, I didn’t win the role that time, but the words have never left me.
It’s a bit of a cliche considering my name, but a rose is a rose is a rose, according to Gertrude Stein.
O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.
’Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What’s Montague? It is nor hand nor foot,
Nor arm nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other word would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for thy name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.