A speech in sonnet form from the famous (in Eneana) bards-play.
Photo credit: LoggaWiggler, Pixabay
And to the witcher man whose casted curse
Enlarged the monster that my words began
Who fostered fractious fracases, and worse
Fear not reprisal from my noble hand
I do not doubt your foul and grave intent
But cannot fault the anger spent in kind
For well did I deserve the punishment
That matched my semblance to my frightful mind
An accidental tutelage by ordeal
Such visions cold into my memory burnt
To be the other side, to sail that sea
This lesson lived is thrice a lesson learnt
So I sweet bless my enemy stayed stout
Grown self-styled judge and executioner
Who slayed the brute within and that without
To sprout a brighter bud to take her turn
Word count: 119. Inspired by this week’s Moral Mondays challenge prompt: “Bless those who curse you.” I apologize that I couldn’t quite get it under 100 words. It is much trickier to shave words down when working in iambic pentameter, it turns out.
It just so happened that the prompt was perfect for a bards-play I am pretending not to write. That is, my muse keeps wanting to write a whole play in full sonnet format, despite me telling her that it’s an insane idea that is going nowhere. (I knew I shouldn’t have fed her so much Shakespeare this summer.) So I am pretending to ignore her, but she keeps working it out when she thinks I’m not watching.
This is part of the protagonist’s big speech in the final scene. The taenassen (1) was turned into a monster in the first act by a witcher (2) she insulted, and now in the end, she forgives the witcher who did it.
(1) Heir to the throne of the Taen
(2) Follower of the old ways, as opposed to those bookish modern wizards.