WEBVTT

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Well, I'd like to
read you a poem called

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"Complaint" in
which the speaker is

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a neurotic courtier of
no particular period, who

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can't figure out what his proper
relationship to the Duchess

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should be.

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I guess this would better be my
last one, looking at the clock.

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Here, I had a marvelous
Latin epigraph to this,

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was going to be very showy.

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How did it go?

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Ex divina pulchritudine
esse omnium derivatur.

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The being or essence
of everything

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derives from divine beauty.

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But I settled for this
one, which is from Vitinho.

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In reality each love is
that of the divine image

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and each is pure.

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"Complaint."

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"Why is it that whenever I
talk with the Duchess, my belly

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growls and my nose waters?

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Why must it be my hand that
tumbles the wine glass over

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into the Cellini salt dish?

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[CHUCKLES]

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Stiff as a gaffer,
fidgety as a child,

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after 20 years of
struggling to be a courtier,

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I remain incapable of the
least politeness, wit, song,

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or learning.

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And I wonder sometimes what
is it in me that hates me.

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Is it that rolling
captain who should

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burst like surf
into her presence,

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dumping down his pillage
of the seas, and in a wink

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dissolve her castled pride.

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She scorns no common
magic, and could

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be pleased to be manhandled
like a kitchen girl,

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so it was sweet and reckless.

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Or is it that
idolatrous fool that's

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in me, who lest she alter
should enchant the hour

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with gentled sparrows
and an aimless lute?

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Enthralling her with tales
of a king's daughter,

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bound in mountain sleep,
whose prince and wakener,

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detained by trials
in deserts, deep sand

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grottoes of the world,
approaches her forever.

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Or am I spited by the
priest, I might be.

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There in the stone
grove of her oratory,

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no ship sails out so free
as she at prayer with head

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bowed and shrouded.

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Confessing her and
my delight in her

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to the great ways and
haven of her beauty,

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would I not serve her better?

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Would not my hand be
steady with the wine?

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Jackass.

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Again, you turn
and turn this prism

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whose every light is
of the purest water.

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How should I fathom
how whose white hands

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fold the rainbow like a fan?

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Oh, maiden, muse, and maiden.

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Oh, my love whose every
moment is the quick of time.

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I am your bumbling
servant, now and ever,

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in this, and the other kingdom."

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Thank you.

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[APPLAUSE]

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