Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned

When William Congreve wrote

'Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.'

in the Mourning Bride, he definitely had my mother in mind.

While my mother was spewing venom in my house today about this colleague of hers who had scorned her, this is what was happening in hell. (For those of you don't know, hell and heaven are situated in the sky that you can see from my balcony. This is where I spend all my evenings, sipping a glass of milk. The concept is too complicated to be explained over a post, but to make the long story short, when my mother is in a good mood, heaven comes on display and when she is livid, it's time for hell.)

So this is what we saw today.


I don't want to imagine what her colleague has in store for her tomorrow!

And as for the poem, I offer the stage to Mr. Congreve. Take it away!


As you'll answer it, take heed
This Slave commit no Violence upon
Himself. I've been deceiv'd. The Public Safety
Requires he should be more confin'd; and none,
No not the Princes self, permitted to
Confer with him. I'll quit you to the King.
Vile and ingrate! too late thou shalt repent
The base Injustice thou hast done my Love:
Yes, thou shalt know, spite of thy past Distress,
And all those Ills which thou so long hast mourn'd;
Heav'n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn'd,
Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd.


Good work, William, I must say!

And if you want to see what heaven looks like, this is it.

Heaven comes on all the time. This was taken yesterday, right after my mother ate the coconut cupcakes with lemon glaze and toasted coconut garnish that I made yesterday.


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