Let’s Talk of Graves, of Worms, and Epitaphs (by William Shakespeare)

 

Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs,
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
Let’s choose executors and talk of wills.
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath
Save our deposèd bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives, and all are Boling-

broke’s,
And nothing can we call our own but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our

bones.
For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings—
How some have been deposed, some slain in

war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have de-

posed,
Some poisoned by their wives, some sleep-

ing killed,
All murdered. For within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court, and there the antic

sits,
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
To monarchize, be feared, and kill with

looks,
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life
Were brass impregnable; and humored thus,
Comes at the last and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell,

king!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and

blood
With solemn reverence. Throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while.
I live with bread like you, feel want,
Taste grief, need friends. Subjected thus,
How can you say to me I am a king?

The poem with the stressed

syllables underlined:

Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs,

Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.
Let’s choose executors and talk of wills.
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath
Save our deposèd bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives, and all are Boling-

broke’s,
And nothing can we call our own but death
And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our

bones.
For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings—
How some have been deposed, some slain in

war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have de-

posed,
Some poisoned by their wives, some sleep-

ing killed,
All murdered. For within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court, and there the antic

sits,
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp,
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
To monarchize, be feared, and kill with

looks,
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life
Were brass impregnable; and humored thus,
Comes at the last and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell,

king!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and

blood
With solemn reverence. Throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty,
For you have but mistook me all this while.
I live with bread like you, feel want,
Taste grief, need friends. Subjected thus,
How can you say to me I am a king?

Comment:

I long suspected that there was a regular

beat in this speech of all Shakespeare's

speeches, but I could not figure it out.

The fact that the lines do not run on, but

complete a thought or phrase at the end

of each line is certainly a strong hint that

there was a rhythm involved. It seems to

require a slow seriousness when spoken

that would emphasis a beat. After

figuring out his sonnets, it has become

clearer to me what Shakespeare intended

to be the beat. You could recite this poem

as prose and would be mostly right, of

course, but as someone interested in

writing poetry it is important to know

the logic behind the rhythm and assure

oneself that it is poetry. Many people

will say that it is iambic pentameter,

but what do they mean when saying

that? That there is a beat on every

second note? That poetry is just a mat-

ter of counting syllables? Nobody goes

further in explaining that assertion,

though it is common, because they have

only a superficial interest in the me-

chanics of poetry.

I have not read this play, so I am not

going to comment too much on this

speech's meaning. It appears to be

the king is feeling defeated and dis-

illusioned with his royal life and the

briefness of life in general, and feels

his followers are propping up an il-

lusion with their continued respect

towards him and resents it, not re-

alizing that in itself is a privilege.

© C.A. MacLennan 2026

Blog update

 

Sorry, I meant to be more active on this blog

than I have been lately. I have been working 

on a children’s book and trying to get a website 

created for my creative writing (poetry and 

short stories). It looks like in the near future I

will be creating a book on the rhythm of

Housman’s poetry, expanding on my work in

this blog. I will also be republishing Folk Tales

and Fairy Lore with my own annotations and 

footnotes, providing much more information 

than on this blog. So, stay tuned for more 

information. 

The Urisk of Eas Buidhe/Uruisg an Easa Bhuidhe

This story is from Folk Tales and

Fairy Lore in Gaelic and English:

Collected from Oral Tradition by

Rev. James MacDougall, and edited

by Rev. George Calder, 1910. It is

in the third section of Fairy Stories

called: “Water Sprites," which deals

with Urisks and Water Horses, pages

298-301. The English translation in

the book is old-fashioned and in Scots

English, so I have provided below my

version in modern English based on

the Gaelic text. I have added words

where I saw fit to make the story flow

easier and make more sense.

  My English Translation:

There’s an ravine called the Yellow

falls. There it is said that Urisks

dwelt and nearby there were

some cabins of the farmers of the

valley.

    One of the Urisks,

 “The Urisk of Eas Buidhe,

          Sitting in Glen Maillie,”

was real annoying to one of the

dairymaids that was in a cabin by the

ravine. Thee wasn’t a day when he

wouldn’t come into the shanty where

she was and passed the time sitting

by the fire, asking her about things,

and interfering with her work.

    She got sick of him, but she didn’t

know how to get rid of him without

getting the other Urisks angry with

her. Finally, she had had it with him,

and decided she would get rid of him,

one way or another.

    One day, when he was hanging

around the fire as usual, he asked her

what her name was. She answered

that it was “Myself and Myself”.

“That’s a strange name” he said.

“Maybe so, but that’s my name.”

   There was a pot of whey on the fire,

and she went to take it off, and he was

in her way, as he typically was. It 

ticked her off so much that she let

some of the boiling whey splash on

his feet and scald him. He jumped

up from his seat and ran out, 

bawling and howling that he was

burnt. As soon as the other Urisks

heard this, they ran down the

ravine to him and asked him who

burned him. He answered Myself

and Myself burnt him.

   “Oh, if it was you that burnt

yourself, there is nothing that can

be done; but if anyone else did it,

we would have burned him and

everything in his cabin.

My Edited Version of the

Original Gaelic Text:

Ann an Gleann-Màilidh an

Lochabar, tha eas ùigeil ris an abrar

an t-Eas Buidhe. Anns as eas so

bha e air a ràdh gu’n robh na

h-Uruisgean ag gabhail fasgaidh;

agus b’ann làimh ris a bha bothain-

àiridhe cuid de thuath a’ghlinne

suidhichte. 

  Bha aon de na h-Uruisgean,

      “Uruisg an Eas’-Bhuidhe

      ’Na shuidhe ’n Gleann-Màilidh.”

ro dhraghail do thé de na bana-

raichean a bha anns na bothain-

àriadhe làimh ris an eas. Cha robh

latha nach tigeadh e stigh do'n

bhothan far an robh i; agus nach

cuireadh e seachad an ùine na

shuidhe mu'n teine, a' h-obair.

Dh'fhàs i sgìth dheth, ach cha robh

fhios aice cia mar a ghràinicheadh

i e gun chorruich nan Uruisgean

chlaoidheadh a foidhidinn cho

buileach leis is gun do chuir i roimpe

a bhi cuidhte is e, ciod air bith a

thachradh.

Air latha àraid a bha e na ghurrach

mu'n teine mar b' àbhaist, dh'feòraich

e am measg a cheisdean, c'ainm a bha

oirre. Fhreagair i gun robh: "Mi fhèin

is Mi fhèin. "Is iongantach an t-ainm

sin," ars esan. "Coma co-dhiùbh, is e

sin a tha orm."

Bha poit mhèig air an teine, agus

an uair a chaidh i g'a toirt dheth, bha

esan san rathad oirre, mar bu ghnàth

leis. Bhrosnaich so i cho mór is gu'n

do leig i d'a deòin le taom de'n mhèag

ghoileach tuiteam m'a chasan, agus a

sgaldadh. Leum e gu grad o a àite-

suidhe, agus ruith e mach a' burra-

laich agus ag glaodhaich gun do

loisgeadh e. Cho luath is a chuala na

h-Uruisgean eile so, ruith iad a nìos

as an eas na choinneamh, agus

dh'fheòraich iad cò a loisg e. Fhreagair

e gun do loisg "Mi fhèin is Mi fhèin."

"O, ma's tu fhèin a loisg thu, chan eil

comas air; ach, nam b'e aon air bith

eile a rinn e, loisgeamaid e fhèin agus

na tha sna bothain-àraidhe leis.

What is the meaning of this story?

The little bit of poetry quoted at the 

beginning of this story, has a lot of 

meaning though it would probably

mean nothing to a modern reader.

What it refers to is a once com-

monly known behaviour of Urisk-

like creatures. That is: sitting

and observing things from a high

vantage point, probably scanning

the landscape for game. I have read

more that one account of people

coming across Bigfoot doing this

exact thing. This explains a lot of

mysterious names you might hear

like: Arthur's Seat or The Brownie's

Chair, which obviously refer to a

place where one of these legendary

creatures was known to and seen to

be looking out on the landscape

below. (Brownies are Urisks,

though Brownies are often des-

cribed as household goblins, I will

discuss this misapprehension in

the future in this blog, when I

discuss further Brownies). These

creatures appear to have no con-

cern about being seen from a

distance, and seem to have a good

gauge of how good human vision

is. Due to our visual limitations

there will always remain a doubt

by many about whether what they

are seeing at that distance is

human, that they seem to be aware

of.  

     This story clearly has the same

roots as the story of Odysseus and

Polyphemus. After Odysseus 

blinds the one-eyed cyclops

Polyphemus, he called to the

other cyclops, and when they asked

him who blinded him, he said:

"Nobody", which was what 

Odysseus told him was his name

earlier. Usually, to explain this re-

semblances of this sort experts will

claim that someone read the Odys-

sey to some Highlanders and they

adsorbed into their folktales

(newspapers and books were read

aloud sometimes at gatherings of

Gaels in the past when reading

skills and materials were rare).

Gaels when reading skills and 

materials were rare). The sim-

ilarities of the two stories is due

to the both of them both being

based on a common and ancient

folklore beliefs.

   What we can learn from the

stories equation of Urisks with

Cyclops is first of all that both

were "giants". We come across

giants often in Gaelic folktales,

we should remember that this is

what a giant is, a monster, and

not simply a large human. The

height of giants we can rest as-

sured is the same as what we

hear in descriptions of our

contemporary hairy giant,

Bigfoot, 7 to 9 feet tall roughly.

If the Cyclops and Urisk are the

same being, we can dismiss the

idea of it being one-eyed as

purely symbolic. One-eyedness

constantly appears in Gaelic

folktales and has great symbolic

meaning (that one is or has be-

come inhuman).

In this story, the Urisk is por-

trayed not as a monster, but as

annoying neighbour, a very com-

mon type in remote places where

people are lonely or bored and

visit too long. This visitor would

typically be an older person, but

the Urisk is portrayed as a child,

only a juvenile Urisk would be

able to fit inside should a dwelling.

Though grossly humanized, the

Urisk still exhibits one key

moster trait: the repeating and

calling out of a human's name,

or in this case, what he assumes to

be a human's name. We have seen

in other stories previously ex-

amined in this blog where a Urisk

repeats word and calls names. It

is dangerous to let a Urisk, or any

similar monster, to know your

name, and the heroine of this story

saves her life by not revealing

her name to the Urisk when asked.

Of course, these beings are not

able to talk to humans in a hu-

man language, that is an invention

of storytellers, they are only able

to mimic what they hear. The

danger is letting them know your

name, is that they might use this

knowledge later to lure you into

danger. There is a folk knowledge

that it is dangerous to let them

know, but in this story the reason

is forgotten or is being obfuscated.

The revenge of the Urisks is sug-

gested to be arson, which is ridic-

ulous, as these creatures have no

use for fire-making, they are to-

tally adapted to outdoor life, and

fire-making would not help them

but serve to give away their pre-

sence. The Urisks are being por-

trayed as simply violent humans.

The true nature of Urisks is

obfuscated as it would ruin

the mocking picture constructed

of Urisk as figures of fun. This

is due to the Scots being Christ-

ians seeking to leave behind

beliefs in these monsters and

former gods. The Cyclops in

his story in the Odyssey, is not

a figure of fun, though he is

tricked by Odysseus. He is

still a fearful and powerful

being as the Greeks were still

pagans, and the Cyclops, even

though a representation of the

divine that had fallen out of

favour by then, was still af-

forded some respect.

© C.A. MacLennan 2025