Original text in yellow, anagrams in pink.
A set
of six anagrams of Shakespeare's sonnet #60, attempting to match
the style and substance of six novels from the 19th and 20th centuries. |
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Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end,
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.
And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
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The ladies drove ahead, and others returned by the crest to
the house. Mr. Collins no sooner saw the girls back than he began
to congratulate them on their fortune, which Charlotte explained
by letting them know that the whole party was asked to dine at
Rosings this Thursday.
Mr. Collins's badge of triumph, in consequence of this invitation,
was newly complete. A time of displaying the strict grandeur
of the stuffy duchess to his wondering visitors, and letting
them see her best civility towards himself and his wife, was
what he had wished for, and that an opportunity of doing it should
be given soon.
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-- Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen, 1813 |
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"Come, kid - quick!"
Noah started without saying a word, in a state of such intense
excitement that it infected him. They left, hurrying through
a thick labyrinth of streets, and arrived at length before a
public-house, which Noah smartly recognised as the same he had
slept in on the night of his arrival in London.
It was past eleven, and the low, broad door was closed. It
opened softly on its hinges as Fagin gave a low whistle. They
entered the inmost threshold without noise; and the door was
closed behind them.
Scarcely venturing to whisper, but substituting show for words,
Fagin sternly prompted them, "Soft!".
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-- Oliver Twist, Charles Dickens, 1838 |
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How she blanched! We didn't mention the crowd that night,
for she did not visit the good Rev. Linton. Thursday it all came
out, to my chagrin; and still I was not altogether responsible:
I thought the burden of both directing and warning would be quite
efficiently kept by him. But he wasn't too deft in giving satisfactory
reasons for his vows that she should shun connection with the
chaste household of Heights, and Catherine liked perfect reasons
for every restraint that harassed her petted will.
"Papa!" she exclaimed, after morning's salutations,
"guess whom I saw yesterday, in my walk on the steep moors."
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-- Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte, 1847 |
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"Something doing! You'll catch it right there when you
walk along the thick streets. Little, glad New York! - it's enough
for Willie. And get this: it never quits! Why, Broadway at night,
'midst the Lombards from----"
He forgot his chop, highly fascinated, and leaned forward
on the table to pour forth his description. The vested manservant
behind Dunstan's chair forgot himself, though he was a trained
domestic whose duty it was to present dishes to the attention
without any apparent mental process. Certainly it was not his
business to listen, feel, and be vexed. He did, however, unconscious
of his breach of manners.
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-- The Shuttle, Francis Hodgson Burnett, 1895 |
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The physician had a mean thought or two of his own, but left.
Not wishing to attach any vast importance to it, he dismissed
the matter as past - worthy of no discussion on his part.
Mrs. Hurstwood gave this information considerable thought
during the next twelve dull spring days. She bet - took it for
granted - that Doctor had not really seen her husband, and that
he had most likely been riding with some fit-bodied, pretty new
witch, after cleverly announcing himself "busy". As
a consequence, she recalled, with rising feelings, how often
he had refused to go places with her, or to share in little weekend
visits.
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-- Little Carrie, Theodore Dreiser, 1900 |
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riverrun, past Adam and Eve's, from hot swerve of shore to
bend of bay, by a curious coitus of inhibition back to Howth
Castle and the Scotch Delusions.
Howbeit Sir Tristram, swindler d'amores, o'er the short sea,
had passencore arrived from North d'Amorica on the dingy isthmus
of Europe Minor to wielderfight his existent penisolate war within
the witching cygnet of the ninth twitching patented pacts.
Whish! Dewy gull. Gulls. Far calls. Debts. Ghost hymn. Going,
to far! Quit, the end. He ended. Did us then? Finn, again! Take.
Till thousendsthee. The Lps. The keys to twenty hints. The way
a lone a last a loved a long the
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-- Finnegans Wake, James Joyce, 1939 |
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