Bitter cold grips America’s Midwest. Ersjdamoo decides, “No walking exercise today.” Instead he will be exercising his fingers on the keyboard.
Can’t President Obama do something about this bitter cold? Why can’t he push for a new law, outlawing extreme cold in the Midwest? If the federal government can outlaw “global warming” then why can’t it outlaw extreme Midwestern winters?
Of course, such laws would be more “words, words, words.” This is what Hamlet says in one of the so-called Shakespeare plays:
Lord Polonius: What do you read, my lord?
Hamlet: Words, words, words.
Lord Polonius: What is the matter, my lord?
Hamlet: Between who?
Lord Polonius: I mean, the matter that you read, my lord.
It was Delia Bacon (1811 – 1859) who first noticed parallels between the so-called Shakespeare writings and those of Francis Bacon (1561 – 1626). Delia Bacon, like Icarus, flew too high and dropped into the sea. She died in a mental institution. But Delia Bacon had unconsciously struck a chord that vibrated in harmony with the newly-educated middle classes of England and America. By 1877 the hundredth publication on the subject of Shakespeare is not Shakespeare had been printed.
And so, because Obama has failed to outlaw extreme cold in the Midwest, Ersjdamoo looks in Francis Bacon’s magnum opus, The Great Instauration, and finds…
“The syllogism consists of propositions, propositions consist of words, words are symbols of notions. Therefore if the notions themselves (which is the root of the matter) are confused and overhastily abstracted from the facts, there can be no firmness in the superstructure.” In other words, it is all just “words, words, words.” Francis Bacon therefore rejects the syllogism as a means of finding truth.
And – Aha! – what do we find in “Twelfth Night”, one of the so-called Shakespeare plays?
Viola: … they that dally nicely with words may quickly make them wanton.
Clown: I would, therefore, my sister had had no name, sir.
Viola: Why, man?
Clown: Why, sir, her name’s a word; and to dally with that word might make my sister wanton. But, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds disgraced them.
Viola: Thy reason, man?
Clown: Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words; and words are grown so false, I am loth to prove reason with them. (Act III, Scene I)