Fergello – Act 2
¶ 1
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Fergello: And so my troth, my season ends this year
And all my revels vanish into thin and vaporous air.
Wengero: Ha! And all thy yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
United’s but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets its hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more; it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Fergello: Thou wearest thy green eyed heart upon thy sleeve,
But I have one more vision yet to weave,
For is this a double which I see before me,
The handle towards my hand? Come let me clutch thee:
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling, as to sight? Or art thou but
A double of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from a PLC-oppressed brain?
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