Broken Hearted on a Royal Throne

Sometimes it was tough-going even for Hamlet.

————

To go or not go, that ignoble broached question

arising from sources of in- and di-gestion,

reminders of pressing, internal suggestion.

This thought haunts the noblest and meanest of mind,

a damned awful spot, as Prince Hamlet would find

when his nobly-intended but bald-faced behind

took its rest on a dutiful, plebian throne

while he sat in discourse with an object well known

which he held close at hand, in one hand, a bare bone

(which resembled—indeed it was—old Yorick’s head,

being raised just this morning from cold, gravely bed)

to whom thoughts of deep grief such as these the Prince said,

while speaking with grimace quite dour and foul,

accosting his ancient friend’s cold, laughless jowl:

“Wouldst I had command o’er my own royal bowel

more than skulls have the power to change their own fate;

be restored from the dust, exeunt pearly gate,

to return to youth’s time before dreams ’vaporate—

before slings and arrows of fortune’s fierce volley

turn hopes of full substance to vaporous folly—

although, now and then, a small fart doth make jolly …”

Such thoughts and amusements continued till dawn

yet his business unfinished, the Prince gave to yawn

thence returned to his bed (with a fresh gown put on)

while on ramparts above, a faint spectral suggestion

bemoaned its dethroned interrupted digestion:

to go or not go, still the unanswered question.

By Ken Gosse

From: United States

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