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Steve Likes to Curse
Writing, comics and random thoughts from really a rather vulgar man
Shakespeare in Love . . . With COCK! 
Wednesday, September 6th, 2006 | 02:00 pm [humor, literature]

Most of Shakespeare’s writing bores me to the brink of suicide, so the only ongoing discussion about him that I find slightly intriguing is the one about his sexuality.  Please, spare me your self-congratulatory musings on the meaning of Hamlet, or about how timeless and versatile he was, how our great-grandkids will still be studying his work, or how he didn’t actually write any of the work attributed to him, which was in fact actually written by the same aliens who built the pyramids, wrote the Bible, and convinced us all to go see Independence Day.  All I really want to know is whether or not the most celebrated writer in the history of Western civilization took it up the ass.


Lots of people think Shakespeare did enjoy a good rogering now and again – and not just crazy homeless people, but smart, scholarly types who one expects to know what the fuck they’re talking about.  One of the primary clues is Shakespeare’s sonnets.  A total of 154 of them were published; twenty six are written to a mistress, the Dark Lady, but a whopping 126 are addressed to a dude, the Fair Lord, who may also be the same person identified as “Master W.H.” in the dedication to the sonnets.  It would be easy to assume that the Fair Lord is just a good friend of Shakespeare, that there was no sexual or romantic involvement.  Easy, until you consider that the famous Sonnet 18, the one that begins “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”, is written to the Fair Lord.


At times, it seems as though the poet’s female mistress and his male lover are about to sneak off with each other and leave poor Will holding his dick.  Here is the text of Sonnet 144, alongside my own personal interpretation:


Two loves I have of comfort and despair,

Which like two spirits do suggest me still:

The better angel is a man right fair,

The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill.

To win me soon to hell, my female evil

Tempteth my better angel from my side,

And would corrupt my saint to be a devil,

Wooing his purity with her foul pride.

And whether that my angel be turn'd fiend

Suspect I may, but not directly tell;

But being both from me, both to each friend,

I guess one angel in another's hell:

Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,

Till my bad angel fire my good one out

I’m fucking two people at once; one of them makes me happy and the other one’s constantly giving me shit.

They’re both always trying to tell me what to do.


The one I like is a pretty young boy with a fabulous cock.

The one I hate is a black-hearted bitch spawned from the anus of Satan himself.


The evil bitch is trying to steal my man away.


She wants to give him herpes.


She’s willing to blow him on the toilet.


I think he’s probably going to go for it, because he’s always been into that kind of thing, the primpy little fag, because, you know, fucking the greatest writer ever just isn’t quite good enough, I guess.



If not for me, those two would never even have met each other, okay?  This is bullshit!


I guess I won’t know for sure if they’re fucking around on me until he’s pulled out and blasted a fat one in my face for the last time.


Admit it, you're gonna jerk off to this picture.

So who was Shakespeare’s male lover, anyway?  Speculation centers on the 3rd Earl of Southampton, one Henry Wriothesley, who would have fit the description of the Fair Lord given throughout the sonnets.  He was 11 years younger than Shakespeare, and noted for how fair and handsome a dude he was.  The Earl of Southampton was one of Shakespeare’s patrons and it was well known that they were friends, so it’s not that much of a stretch to imagine them running off to the Molly house together.

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