Why was I reading Romeo & Juliet at three in the morning - particularly since I knew I would have to be up at five? The Complete Works of Shakespeare live on my night stand for just those moments when night's darkful time is slow to pass. Perchance the twin cups of coffee, ta'en earlier, did slip my sleep away?
Romeo and Juliet, married now, were having their first post nuptial disagreement. She said it was the nightingale calling, he identified it as the morning lark and it signaled that he had to be up and out of there. He was right, of course, but had his hearing been as faulty as mine is, it would have been an entirely different story. They would have been caught, their secret marriage discovered, and since it was a fait accompli, probably, though reluctantly, it would have been accepted by both the Montagues and the Capulets. They would have birthed the required two and a half children, and lived happ'ly ever after... - except should the divorce have interfered, when they might have revived the feud, one and a quarter of the children going to the Montagues and the other one and a quarter to the Capulets. The ending would be the same, the same never equaled tale of woe, "All are punished."
My lark did call at five the next morning, and I arose in a bit of a fog, which lingered throughout the day. Was this because of no sleep, or was it because I had this gnawing, unanswered Shakespearian question clanging around in my head? I made it through the day, and at that day's end sleep refused, yet again, to come when it was expected. When the nightingale gave me two shouts, I grabbed my 'Complete Works' once again. It fell open at Act I, Scene I, Macbeth.
Sometimes this wee hours kind of reading is a mechanical thing. The pages pass and turn. I have been there before. The words slip by, like the elusive sleep, until something outstanding happens, and it always does in Macbeth. In Act III, Scene II, possibly the most beautiful line ever written in the English language caught me once again, "Light thickens, and the crow makes wing to th' rooky wood." And as lightening strikes the ancient oak, my clanging question was answered: Me thinks the Bard was a birder born! An early one, before Roger Tory Peterson, before Sibley, before me!
I paged back, and then ahead: Wide awake now, now I had a quest, I was birding Macbeth.
Act I, Scene V, Lady Macbeth, "The raven himself is hoarse that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan under my battlements."
Act II, Scene IV, An old man, speaking to Ross, in awe of the murder of Duncan, "T'is unnatural, even like the deed that's done. On Tuesday last a falcon, towering in her pride of place, was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and killed."
Act II, Scene IV, The blood bath is beginning to get to Macbeth, and Banquo's ghost shows up. Macbeth, "If charnel houses and our graves send those that we bury back, our monuments shall be as the maws of kites."
Act IV, Scene II, Macduff's wife, her husband having fled, leaving her and her babies to their own devices, "He wants (lacks) the natural touch. For the poor wren, the most diminutive of birds, will fight, her young ones in her nest, against the owl."
Even the witch's brew, "Boil and bubble, toil and trouble," includes in its recipe "an howlet's wing." And Mcduff to Malcom, in Act IV, Scene III, "We have willing dames enough. There cannot be that vulture in you to devour so many!"
Act IV, Scene III, Macduff is advised by Ross that his wife and children have all been done away with. Macduff, understandably in grief, explodes, "Did you say all? Oh hell kite! All? What, all my pretty chickens, and their dam at one fell swoop?"
Act IV, Scene II, It is all coming apart now, Birnam Wood is coming to Dunsinane, and a servant rushes to tell Macbeth of it. He replies, in rage, "Where got'st thou that goose look?" - I really like that "got'st," I think we should use it more often.
Servant: "There is ten thousand¦"
Macbeth: "Geese, villain?"
Servant: "Soldiers, Sir."
Well, there you go, Macduff does "lay on," and Macbeth's head does roll, however, one play, seven species and all before my "light thickens" again.
Should you need a new birding adventure, you might try one of his other plays, there are around thirty-five others. Let me know how you make out. As in that delightful piece from Kiss Me Kate, the musical adaptation of The Taming of The Shrew, "...brush up your Shakespeare, and you'll have a wonderful time!"