Layla’s Lament

To speak up or not to speak; that is the question:
Whether ’tis wiser to reveal one’s heart and suffer
The slings and arrows of insensitive men
Or to take cover against a sea of troubles,
And by keeping mum, end them? To wait,
to lust from afar, thereby to avoid
The heartache and the thousand shocks
a minstrel’s consort is heir to, ’tis a safe haven
Devoutly to be wish’d. But yet,
To speak, perchance to dream one’s ardor may be returned;
ay, there’s the rub;
For in declaring oneself, what dreams may come true
When we have shuffled off this mortal doubt?
It gives us pause. But e’en so, should the fantasy be fulfilled,
Who in her right mind would bear the twangs and scorns of a musician’s love;
The late nights, the distaff hangers-on,
The pangs of unrequited lust, the consummation’s delay,
The almighty guitar and the spurns
Of all that from its attention takes,
When mere mortal and steadfast men
Also roam the earth? Who would these burdens bear,
To scrimp and save under an impoverished life,
But that the elixir of the music
And its player’s fabled passion promises entrancement
Few can resist. It puzzles the will
and makes us rather bear the secret longing
Than to fly to torments we know only too well of.
Thus caution does make Carters of us all,
Lusting but in the heart alone;
And thus, the reality pales
against the glittering cast of fantasy,
And while our thoughts dwell on such muddling matters,
We disarm the demon of desire
And lose the name of action.

By Eileen P. Duggan
with apologies to Wm. Shakespeare