Billy Shakespeare

‘Tis nearly Christmas, time to feast on meats
Yet time doth not my anger try to wane
For she hath made the largest crazy feats
Until the time of spring is here again

I don’t have words enough to write this poem
A nonsense verse for joy inside thy home.

Apologies for missing my day of birth. I was busy dying.

These were my words to the cold winter air this morn. I awoke with my nose a-running! It doth not bode well for the coming days if this sickness is to continue.

Forswear it, sight! For ne’er have I seen a cat so giddy ‘til this night.

(He chased his tail and caught it, and let out a frightful meowing. Foolish thing.)

A rose by any other name may smell as sweet, but would it still truly be a rose?

Villain, I would have done thy mother, but given that her character is as vile as thine I would not pollute my sword in her baldric.

The sun has shone today for the first time in the year! Mayhap this is a sign of things to come? Mayhap????

In truth, I am but one man—I am weak against the cat’s enormous eyes.

Yes, thou mayest have one more treat. But only one!

Mayhap two.

(The eyes are large enough to cover the brightness of the full moon!)

I need not money to paint my pole; I need only a hand and a bottle of

[exit, pursued by a bear]

A curse on the houses of those who use AI for creative endeavours. Makers thine own mistakes like a human! Thou needst not be perfect at the start. The true growth of thy soul is in the learning!

Before removing the mote from thy neighbour’s eye, remove the silver spoon from thine own buttocks — I believe that is how the Biblical saying doth go.

Anne, bringeth the cat in!

‘Tis the first day of another year; another day to feast and be merry before returning to the toil of hard labour. Were I a man to complain, I would start this very eve and not stop for eight nights.

The last day of the old year is upon us. May the new be good to us all!

‘Tis nearly time for the year to cometh new, and there are many ways to improve myself. Alas, I hath doubts I shall do any of them past the second day.

Having once wrote that thou art “as a candle, the better burnt out” I must correct myself; not of thee, but of the festive Yankee Candle I received from Anne. Truly, what joy is in the scent! May it last all winter.

Mine eyes do not smell onions, but they do water, for the cat has broken foul wind and it is a stench for the ages. Good God, beast, what hast thou eaten?

If to die is to sleep, is life, then, merely a terrible case of insomnia?

(Alas, this author cannot sleep. Now there truly is the rub.)

I love not the humour of bread and cheese…

Oh I doth jest. I loveth the cheeky Stilton, the pungent Brie, the fulsome cheddar. I shall eat them ALL.

‘Twas worth every delicious bite, in truth.

Remember that if thou cuttest off thy brother on the turning of the road with thine own steed then thou art naught but a loathsome toad and, God willing, fate will find thee and punish thee.

I must visit my tailor in the New Year, for my breeches need let out since the constant feasting of the season.

Hang the end of December, for it is a time for a surfeit of cheese while not knowing day from day, or hour from hour.