Warning: the following makes no sense. But I’m having fun. Are you having fun? Anybody who doesn’t know what the fuss is about, read the post after this one. Short version: We’re upset with the U.S. Olympic Committee so we’re knitting socks for Stephen Colbert.
WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those Ravelers
That knit no socks to-day!
KING. What’s she that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are stitch-mark’d to unravel, we are enough
To do Knit Nation loss; and if to knit,
The more the socks, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one knitter more.
By Bob, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth caffeinate upon my cost;
It yearns me not if teenagers my garments refuse;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a law clerk from the USOC.
Bob’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one knitter more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That she which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let her depart; her pattern shall be downloaded,
And skeins for cowls put into her Namaste purse;
We would not die in that ma’am’s company
That fears her fellowship to knit with us.
This day is call’d the feast of Colbert.
He that knits socks this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d,
And rouse him at the name of Colbert.
He that shall knit this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his knitting group,
And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Colbert.’
Then will he frog his sleeve and show his scarves,
And say ‘These stitches I dropped on Colbert’s day.’
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember, with advantages,
What feet he knit for that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cuppas freshly rememb’red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Colbert Colbertian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of knitters;
For he to-day that sheds his mohair with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And knitters now in England now-a-bed (due to the time difference)
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their Addis cheap whiles any speaks
That knit with us upon Saint Colbert’s day.
Oh heck, just watch Sir Ken do it.