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SHAKESPEARE TO THE RESCUE
Long ago, faced with those moments in marriage when it is
difficult to refrain from caustic comment - for example when one's
beloved decides to stand on a glass-topped table in order to open
the top window - I vowed that I would not say a word until I had
internally recited Shakespeare's enduring sonnet of love all the way
through. It takes longer than counting to ten, the archaic language
has a soothing effect of itself and, more importantly, it serves to
remind me why I married the man in the first place. So, with due
acknowledgment to Will for his role in keeping us out of the divorce
court, allow me to celebrate our years together.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments
Unlikely as it might have seemed in the days when we double-
locked hotel doors so as not to frighten the chambermaids, it was
always your mind I was after. Having got what I wanted, it is a
pity that I fail to appreciate it first thing in the morning. You
may have been awake, alert and reading back issues of the Economist
since 5am, but I have only just emerged from sleep and need coffee,
not cogent comments on world affairs. For forbearance towards a
grumpy wife in the mornings, and for the proffered cup of coffee, I
have reason to be grateful.
Love is not love
That alters when it alteration finds
Or bends with the remover to remove
Oh no, it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken
We have looked on the tantrums of toddlers and the
tiresomeness of teenagers and survived. Poets never sing of
parenthood, probably because they had to mop up the contents of a
spilled inkwell, or hand over the last sheet of parchment to a
budding artist. Nor do they mention the glue that the routine of
looking after the children provided as we struggled through the
awkward stage of giving each other a second, third or fortieth
chance once the tempest had blown itself out.
It is the star to every wandering barque
Whose worth's unknown although its height be taken
By the time you proposed (next door to the gents' toilet), I
already knew that I would follow your star, across the boundless
ocean if need be, in a leap of faith. Looking back I can see that
what I expected, in practical rather than romantic terms, was that
you would follow wherever I led, and the realisation on both sides
that we would not always agree led to many a zigzag in our plotted
course.
Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks
But bears it out even to the edge of doom
Middle-aged spread today, scrawny old age tomorrow. No
matter, true lovers remain forever in their prime, and it is not
just in old photographs that I see the young man I married. We have
been in some queer situations together, you and I, No doubt with
queerer ones to come, yet I cannot think of a better person to have
on my side. And so, with Will, I conclude:
If this be error and upon me proved
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
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