A Mother’s Complaint

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Think not me false; for you’re fat, and scant of breath.

Words of love and affection I spring toward

My son; and think yea, I love not thy father?

Now to my poison, no more of me (I barely have lines)

The end. Farewell, I’ll finish quick and leave

The men to theirs (you all have the monologues—you the most).

I, who brought you up to know the difference

From sucking, and being the sucker. (You did not have to kill the man behind the curtain. It’s enough that you uncovered his presence. He could have lived, and she wouldn’t have gone crazy, and he wouldn’t have come back to challenge you, and they could have gone on flipping coins, and you could have visited England another time, maybe when it was warmer, so much could have been avoided.

O, this is most fair: Wretched child

You accuse me of gossip-mongering; (Honestly, you little shit. You try that melancholy with me, it’s in your room for the day, and you can eat cake for all I care.)

Plotting against my blood. Filling sand bags

With knives, and against my kingdom? Appal

Yourself and lay down dead. I drink your poison. (I heard him tell me not to drink. Did you not think I heard, and then answered I will. I drank because…maybe I deserved it; maybe it was my time to go, and I’m not good as saying ‘let’s think about it; mull it around for four and a half hours’ [like some people are!!!] and I’d have to tell the present King I no longer wanted to be married, and getting an annulment is hard for women—and from a King? Yeah, that much harder).

Join me soon, as then we shall have wife, father,

And child. (Maybe Yorick will tell us the one about the courtier that walks into the tavern?)

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