Pierre Shakes
Registered
Hamlet on Billiards
weary, stale, flat and unprofitable
out of joint
where did I leave
best safety
it must follow
toys of desperation
a questionable shape
start from their spheres
my slow leave
most foul
the play’s the thing
outrageous fortune
out of frame
follow’d hard upon
no man has aught of what he leaves
a man might play
father lost
out of the shot
most foul, strange and unnatural.
calumnious strokes
disjoint
occasion smiles upon a second leave
shapes of grief
Look you now, what follows
pleasing shape
take my leave
cue for passion
put it in his pocket
Out of the shot
I have shot
a man might play
fix’d His canon
But break, my heart
THE MENTAL GAME
The better to beguile
a wretch whose natural gifts were poor to those of mine
We'll teach you to drink deep
Set your entreatments at a higher rate
Neither a borrower nor a lender be
weigh what loss your honour may sustain
A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
a mind impatient
In my mind's eye,
his will is not his own
on his choice depends
Beware of entrance to a quarrel
from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records
I see this has gotten out of hand.
weary, stale, flat and unprofitable
out of joint
where did I leave
best safety
it must follow
toys of desperation
a questionable shape
start from their spheres
my slow leave
most foul
the play’s the thing
outrageous fortune
out of frame
follow’d hard upon
no man has aught of what he leaves
a man might play
father lost
out of the shot
most foul, strange and unnatural.
calumnious strokes
disjoint
occasion smiles upon a second leave
shapes of grief
Look you now, what follows
pleasing shape
take my leave
cue for passion
put it in his pocket
Out of the shot
I have shot
a man might play
fix’d His canon
But break, my heart
THE MENTAL GAME
The better to beguile
a wretch whose natural gifts were poor to those of mine
We'll teach you to drink deep
Set your entreatments at a higher rate
Neither a borrower nor a lender be
weigh what loss your honour may sustain
A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
a mind impatient
In my mind's eye,
his will is not his own
on his choice depends
Beware of entrance to a quarrel
from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records
I see this has gotten out of hand.