-Shakespeare, "Richard II"I have no name, no title,
No, not that name was given me at the font,
But ’tis usurp’d: alack the heavy day,
That I have worn so many winters out,
And know not now what name to call myself!
O that I were a mockery king of snow,
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,
To melt myself away in water-drops!
"Who am I?"
ReplyDeleteOne of the eternal questions -- long before the 60s, when I used to hear that question so often.
We are at times so many people. I often wonder why I feel compelled to desire to be the same one, all the time.
ReplyDeleteJean Valjean... 24601... Cosette's father... Mayor of the town...
*shakes head*