Template:Dkt regolamenti homunculus: Difference between revisions

From The Jolly Contrarian
Jump to navigation Jump to search
No edit summary
Tags: Mobile edit Mobile web edit
No edit summary
 
(9 intermediate revisions by the same user not shown)
Line 1: Line 1:
{{script|Regolamento}}: Th’untended thatch of shin-tangling rulery sleepeth not.
{{dia|Queen|Good [[Regolamento]]. Your ornery battalion grows apace.<br>
Slim principles of conduct — short days ago, a waxing star — now replay as half-recollected reveries.
Why so many hands aligned in defensive form,<br>
Was there such a time? Was life so sweet? Who knew what glinting jewels we held?
When ill-conduced to aid our onward march?}}
Now knotted perimeters o’erlap and contradict. Rulebooks overflow in every body. Even our own..
{{dia|Regolamento|Th’untended thatch of shin-tangling rulery sleepeth not.<br>
Th’allvuvial fan silts with ropish scars of distant misadventure
Slim principles of good behaviour — short days ago, a waxing star<br>
Our cause grows ever bleak
Play out their scenes as half-recollected dreams.<br>
In that rich and loamy sod low stunted shrubs  whose thorny limbs the squalling wind doth shriek.
O, happy reverie! Was there e’er so sweet a time?<br>
We set our team with adze and axe and secateurs
Was compliant life so fair? Who knew what glinting jewels we held!<br>
They hack at growling branches -who mandate this matchèd trade, time-stamp that contemporaneously, for aught but some pedantic reconciliation.
Jewels once, but crush’d to charcoal in our hands.}}
But it is a labour more riskful then rewarding.
{{dia|Queen|Doth mere statutory obeisance bring you low?}}
 
{{dia|Nuncle|Not so low he couldn’t raise an army, liege.}}
 
{{dia|Regolamento|’Tis true: the count of heads giv’n to policery is fat —<br>
Th’untended thatch of shin-tangling rulery sleepeth not.  
But knotted perimeters o’erlap and contradict.<br>
Slim principles of good behaviour — short days ago, a waxing star — now replay as ill-recollected dreams.
Bossy strictures grind upon our chasest industries<br>
O, sweet reverie! Was there e’er so sweet a time?  
Our smallest act hemmed in by rainbow rules of ill-scop’d application.<br>
Was compliant life so kind? Who knew what glinting jewels we held?  
Ours not to make reply nor reason why —<br>
Now knotted perimeters o’erlap and contradict.  
Ours to but be silent and, ''sans'' fuss, comply.}}
Bossy strictures bear down on our merest industries
{{dia|Queen|What causeth this?}}
Our every little act hemmed in by rainbow rules of ill-scop’d application
{{dia|Regolamento|The ropish scars of distant misadventure<br>
Ours not to reason why
Give the fib to saintly visage.<br>
Ours to do and comply.
The watchers’ shrill response to past imprudence:<br>
We take our bitter medicines even while we let this gleaming engine stack silt up
This misbegotten step, that ill-timed grapple<br>
As if it were a discarded hulk, half-buried in the mud at Tilbury
Each wormy bite we take of [[bad apple|rotten apple]] — each one marks us deep.<br>
Queen what causes this?
If harmed or just abash’d, some fuss-pot regulators’ soon at hand<br>
Regulato: the ropish scars of distant misadventure  
To apportion reprimand. And soon thereafter to encode<br>
Each shrill response to imprudent trips and grapples
In cryptic ciphers fresh directives which, thereafter, he}}
Each time we suffer a wormy bite of rotten apple, whether harmed or just embarrassed
{{dia|Inclusivia|Or she.}}
Some alert official record, reflect, punishes, and encodes
{{dia|Regolamento|Or she or they — abstain from explication,<br>
In cryptic ciphers which thereafter he or she doth not deign to explain or change.
But fix confusing rules in stone and thereby codify.<br>
It set in stone and codified, for good or ill.
We know not whereof they mean: it might be stop, it might be go.<br>
Q: canst thou not get a ruling?
No further light forthcomes about. We imagine neither do they know.}}
Nuncle: a worthy thought. A pretty feeling.
{{dia|Queen|Canst thou not obtain a ruling?}}
And ask him while you’re there to nail jelly to the ceiling.
{{dia|Nuncle|A worthy thought. A pretty feeling.<br>
Our cause grows ever bleak In that rich and loamy sod low stunted shrubs whose thorny limbs the squalling wind doth shriek. We set our team with adze and axe and secateurs They hack at growling branches -who mandate this matchèd trade, time-stamp that contemporaneously, for aught but some pedantic reconciliation. But it is a labour more riskful then rewarding.
And ask them, while you’re there, to nail your jelly to the ceiling.<br>
Th’official who binds his fate to instruments unfathom’d<br>
E’en if his own, is a rare and special bird.}}
{{dia|Regolamento|We take our bitter medicines<br>
E’en while we let this gleaming engine stack silt up<br>
As like a discarded hulk, half-buried in the mud at Tilbury<br>
In that rich and loamy sod low stunted shrubs<br>
Whose thorny limbs the squalling wind doth shriek.<br>
We set our team with adze and axe and secateurs<br>
They hack at growling branches who mandate<br>
This matchèd trade, that time-stamp, some other reckoning of pedantry.<br>
But it is a labour more riskful then rewarding.}}

Latest revision as of 15:18, 10 September 2024

Queen: Good Regolamento. Your ornery battalion grows apace.
Why so many hands aligned in defensive form,
When ill-conduced to aid our onward march?

Regolamento: Th’untended thatch of shin-tangling rulery sleepeth not.
Slim principles of good behaviour — short days ago, a waxing star
Play out their scenes as half-recollected dreams.
O, happy reverie! Was there e’er so sweet a time?
Was compliant life so fair? Who knew what glinting jewels we held!
Jewels once, but crush’d to charcoal in our hands.

Queen: Doth mere statutory obeisance bring you low?

Nuncle: Not so low he couldn’t raise an army, liege.

Regolamento: ’Tis true: the count of heads giv’n to policery is fat —
But knotted perimeters o’erlap and contradict.
Bossy strictures grind upon our chasest industries
Our smallest act hemmed in by rainbow rules of ill-scop’d application.
Ours not to make reply nor reason why —
Ours to but be silent and, sans fuss, comply.

Queen: What causeth this?

Regolamento: The ropish scars of distant misadventure
Give the fib to saintly visage.
The watchers’ shrill response to past imprudence:
This misbegotten step, that ill-timed grapple
Each wormy bite we take of rotten apple — each one marks us deep.
If harmed or just abash’d, some fuss-pot regulators’ soon at hand
To apportion reprimand. And soon thereafter to encode
In cryptic ciphers fresh directives which, thereafter, he

Inclusivia: Or she.

Regolamento: Or she — or they — abstain from explication,
But fix confusing rules in stone and thereby codify.
We know not whereof they mean: it might be stop, it might be go.
No further light forthcomes about. We imagine neither do they know.

Queen: Canst thou not obtain a ruling?

Nuncle: A worthy thought. A pretty feeling.
And ask them, while you’re there, to nail your jelly to the ceiling.
Th’official who binds his fate to instruments unfathom’d
E’en if his own, is a rare and special bird.

Regolamento: We take our bitter medicines
E’en while we let this gleaming engine stack silt up
As like a discarded hulk, half-buried in the mud at Tilbury
In that rich and loamy sod low stunted shrubs
Whose thorny limbs the squalling wind doth shriek.
We set our team with adze and axe and secateurs
They hack at growling branches who mandate
This matchèd trade, that time-stamp, some other reckoning of pedantry.
But it is a labour more riskful then rewarding.