«Here’s the challenge, read it. I warrant there’s vinegar and pepper in’t.»
William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Twelfth Night, or What You Will (c. 1601-1602), act. 3, scene 4, v. 109.
«Here’s the challenge, read it. I warrant there’s vinegar and pepper in’t.»
«Come on, my lords,
the better foot before.»
This peace is nothing but to rust iron.
Gloucester, see here the tainture of thy nest,
And look thyself be faultless, thou wert best.
Polonius: What do you read, my lord?
Hamlet: Words, words, words.
[…] «L’amor
fa que els joves captivin i que els vells desvariïn;
és savi quan és foll, i és foll quan és prudent.»
How love makes young men thrall and old men dote;
How love is wise in folly, foolish-witty.
No en diguis, doncs, amor. L’amor se’n va anar al cel,
quan li va usurpar el nom la luxúria suosa,
que s’alimenta, revestida d’innocència,
de la bellesa fresca, tacant-la de retrets,
perquè l’ardent tirana l’ataca i destrueix,
tal com fan les erugues amb les fulles més tendres.
Call it not love, for Love to heaven is fled,
Since sweating Lust on earth usurp’d his name;
Under whose simple semblance he hath fed
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame;
Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves,
As caterpillars do the tender leaves.
Ella està davant d’ell, que s’havia assegut;
com una amant humil es posa de genolls;
després amb una bella mà li alça el capell,
i amb l’altra tendra mà li amanyaga la cara;
les galtes d’ell conserven l’empremta dels dits d’ella,
tal com la neu caiguda mostra qualsevol traça.
Now was she just before him as he sat,
And like a lowly lover down she kneels;
With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat,
Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels:
His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand’s print,
As apt as new-fall’n snow takes any dint.