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These forums are being phased out. The new, improved Orlando Gibbons (1583-1625) Forum is at classicalmusicforums.com.
The former post was deleted as it violated our user agreement, or it did not add to the "Classical Music & Art" conversation in a constructive manner.
The new Orlando Gibbons (1583-1625) Forum may be found at http://classicalmusicforums.com/forumdisplay.php?f=15 .
To foster quality discussion forums throughout Classicals.com, from now on only registered members may post. Spam will not be tolerated. If you would like to help moderate, please contact "jolly roger ship @ yahoo . com".
Please register at http://classicalmusicforums.com to post in the future.
We prefer deep reflections on Philosophy, Shakespearean Sonnets, and tender musings along the lines of:
XXVI Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, To thee I send this written embassage, To witness duty, not to show my wit: Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, But that I hope some good conceit of thine In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it: Till whatsoever star that guides my moving, Points on me graciously with fair aspect, And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving, To show me worthy of thy sweet respect: Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee; Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me. --William Shakespeare
And his heart was stirred, it felt a father's kindness: such an emotion as the possessor of beauty can inspire in one who offered himself up in spirit to create beauty. -Thomas Mann, Death in Venice
It is our continuing goal to foster the world's greatest converstation regarding all higher pursuits.
In the future, please register and make all posts to http://classicalmusicforums.com,
and/or join the forums at Great Books & Philosophy Forums @ jollyrogerwest.com.
We can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them. --Albert Einstein
All The Best,
William Einstein Shakespeare :)
XVI But wherefore do not you a mightier way Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time? And fortify your self in your decay With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? Now stand you on the top of happy hours, And many maiden gardens, yet unset, With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers, Much liker than your painted counterfeit: So should the lines of life that life repair, Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen, Neither in inward worth nor outward fair, Can make you live your self in eyes of men. To give away yourself, keeps yourself still, And you must live, drawn by your own sweet skill. --William Shakespeare