My Bitches, Part Two

A friend of mine told me she really liked the title of my original post, "My Bitches."  Instead of thinking of it as "My Complaints," "My Nasty Things I've Done," or "Other Bitches I Know and Hang Out With," she told me she had a funny image of three slightly shorter versions of myself that worked as sort of henchman--or women.  I've been running with this image as far as I can go.  The Bitches are definitely the three witches from MacBeth and they are going to become regular characters on this blog.  "Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble," they chant over their special brew before doom visits the castle.  I haven't yet  mentioned that I am such a fan of Shakespeare that I become embarrassingly teary-eyed at the beauty of the language all too frequently when reading "Romeo and Juliet" each spring.  If, right about now, you're think Shakespeare is too high-minded and cerebral or to put it in more potent language, just for nerds, I would argue that he's worth the work.  Look, people, the greatest writer the language has ever seen should present a challenge.  Don't be like a sixteen year old, all too unwilling to sweat a little.  Get some notes to help you through and if your high school English teacher did you the disservice of not being passionate enough about ole Will to impart ye with some enthusiasm, follow this recipe:

Round about the couldron go:
In the poisones entrails throw.
Toad,that under cold stone
Days and nights has thirty-one
Sweated venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first in the charmed pot.
Double,double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork and blindworm's sting,
Lizard's leg and howlet's wing.
For charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Double,double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and couldron bubble.

I am pretty sure that was a fenny snake in a hell-broth reduction I had as the Soup of the Day down in the cafeteria today. 

Scale of dragon,tooth of wolf,
Witch's mummy, maw and gulf
Of the ravin'd salt-sea shark,
Root of hemlock digg'd in the dark,
Liver of blaspheming Jew;
Gall of goat; and slips of yew
silver'd in the moon's eclipse;
Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips;
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-deliver'd by the drab,-
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,
For ingrediants of our cauldron.
Double,double toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

Gall of goat is pretty sick.  I've seen it.  We once had a dwarf goat suffering from an unknown digestive ailment whom one over-zealous emergency veterinarian took too much to heart.  After running the required series of (expensive) tests in the middle of the night, she thought little of tubing our little darling and sucking the yellow and green offending fluid out of the animal's gut with her mouth, spitting it into the lawn, sucking and spitting repeatedly until the goatlet's tummy was empty.  The beast rallied, but passed later that night.  That vet is one bitch I would recruit. I would have her collect goat gall in a cup for me to sneak into Mrs. Puff's coffee.

What is a tiger's chaudron,  I wonder?  Sounds dirty to me.  Unfortunately duty calls, so I'll have to get back to you on that.  You may have noticed that entries are coming less often.  I've managed to pick up a side job, as teachers and many other people are finding necessary these days.  I'm grateful for it and a little busier.  Until next time, be a good knave and try Sonnet 29.