Feste of Twelfth Night LbNA #11814
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Add Location| Owner: | Adoptable |
|---|---|
| Plant date: | Oct 12, 2004 |
| Location: | |
| City: | ??? |
| County: | Gwinnett |
| State: | Georgia |
| Boxes: | 1 |
| Planted by: | Eli and Aubrey  |
|---|---|
| Found by: | ??? |
| Last found: | May 20, 2009 |
| Status: | FFFFFFa |
| Last edited: | Oct 12, 2004 |
Feste of Twelfth Night
What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.
It is not hard to imagine a 20 year old Mary Prince Benson reciting such words of prose to her suitor in late 1815.
Perhaps, one can never know, this poem may have even enticed young - but not quite as young - Thomas to marry her in
January of the following year, on the ninth day to be precise. What kind of wedding might they have had in Greenville, SC on a
winter Tuesday...
They wasted no time starting a family - Mary gave birth to their first child on the 25th of November 1916. They named her Martha, the first of 14 children.
And then a few years later the young couple set out on the adventure of their lives, moving to Georgia to
start their own farm, and build their own house. Only a few years after Gwinnett had become a county, they decided to add to the population of a city which was known then as the McDaniel Settlement.
Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me me be laid;
Fly away, fly away breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O, prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave,
To weep there!
Mary died in 1866, having outlived her husband by 27 years. Despite these pleadings of Feste, find their grave. Think for a moment what it must have been like for Mary to have run this farm when it was in it's prime, with so many children (9 under
the age of 18 when her husband died). While you are standing near their headstones, turn and look at the house they built
so long ago. It still feels somehow like you could be standing there 150 years ago even though you are so closely
surrounded by the frantic world we know today. As you admire the farm house, look slightly right and notice the work shed.
If you want to find Feste to thank him for his stirring words, walk to the workshed. Here is what he told me to tell you
in order to find him:
Heel to heel retreat up wooden rise,
On stoop and chase, fix your eyes.
Once back as far as back you can,
To your back touch hinge of iron.
If you now stare straight ahead,
Clear will be the way to tread.
I rest off earth, am sheltered well,
Upon stone and mortar, I now dwell.
This is a quiet place almost always. But, as always, please be discreet when necessary. Enjoy the hunt!
Eli and Aubrey
What is love? 'tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What's to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Youth's a stuff will not endure.
It is not hard to imagine a 20 year old Mary Prince Benson reciting such words of prose to her suitor in late 1815.
Perhaps, one can never know, this poem may have even enticed young - but not quite as young - Thomas to marry her in
January of the following year, on the ninth day to be precise. What kind of wedding might they have had in Greenville, SC on a
winter Tuesday...
They wasted no time starting a family - Mary gave birth to their first child on the 25th of November 1916. They named her Martha, the first of 14 children.
And then a few years later the young couple set out on the adventure of their lives, moving to Georgia to
start their own farm, and build their own house. Only a few years after Gwinnett had become a county, they decided to add to the population of a city which was known then as the McDaniel Settlement.
Come away, come away, death,
And in sad cypress let me me be laid;
Fly away, fly away breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O, prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it.
Not a flower, not a flower sweet
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave,
To weep there!
Mary died in 1866, having outlived her husband by 27 years. Despite these pleadings of Feste, find their grave. Think for a moment what it must have been like for Mary to have run this farm when it was in it's prime, with so many children (9 under
the age of 18 when her husband died). While you are standing near their headstones, turn and look at the house they built
so long ago. It still feels somehow like you could be standing there 150 years ago even though you are so closely
surrounded by the frantic world we know today. As you admire the farm house, look slightly right and notice the work shed.
If you want to find Feste to thank him for his stirring words, walk to the workshed. Here is what he told me to tell you
in order to find him:
Heel to heel retreat up wooden rise,
On stoop and chase, fix your eyes.
Once back as far as back you can,
To your back touch hinge of iron.
If you now stare straight ahead,
Clear will be the way to tread.
I rest off earth, am sheltered well,
Upon stone and mortar, I now dwell.
This is a quiet place almost always. But, as always, please be discreet when necessary. Enjoy the hunt!
Eli and Aubrey