1) A quick Google search indicates television screens are still sized based on the diagonal dimension of the screen.
2) Accepting the most common modern television aspect ratio of 16:9.
Tangent 9/16 = 0.5625 which yields an angle of 29.357753542791272457179755551199° Sine 29.357753542791272457179755551199° = 0.49026123963255897236328034322957
Cosine 29.357753542791272457179755551199° = 0.87157553712454928420138727685257
0.49026123963255897236328034322957 × 50 = 24.513061981627948618164017161479″ as the screen height
0.87157553712454928420138727685257 × 50 = 43.578776856227464210069363842628″ as the screen width.
Allowing 4″ for trim and 4″ for depth she’s hiding an overall 47.578776856227464210069363842628″ × 28.513061981627948618164017161479″ × 4″ object.
Aside from “very carefully,” how does she walk?
Edited in a bit later.
The actual painting is “Maria Luisa of Parma wearing Panniers” – Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes
The following quote:
“ Panniers or side hoops are women’s undergarments worn in the 17th and 18th centuries to extend the width of the skirts at the side while leaving the front and back relatively flat. This provided a panel where woven patterns, elaborate decorations and rich embroidery could be displayed and fully appreciated.”
Comes from HERE
Simple right-triangle geometry: (in inches)
√(50²÷(16²+9²)) = 2,723673554 (hypotenuse squared divided by the sum of both squared sides)
2,723673554*16 = 43,578776856 (width)
2,723673554*9 = 24,513061982 (height)
Even with your legit assumptions concerning trim and depth – her dress could cover more than that.
Concerning her walking – cramped…
Good grief… I know you like to do things the hard way, and you love to see those looooong numbers…
But you already have the hypotenuse and the ratio… so as Tigressy already pointed out, you only need the Pythagorean theorem for this, not trigonometry.
…
And, AFAIK, there is nothing on the planet built to a tolerance of 30 significant figures!
I’m not a scientist, and I admit that I don’t know about tolerances involving nanobots or electron microscopes…
but I’ll take any bet against television set measurements being accurate to more than 6 or 7 significant figures… already about two more than I think.
Even 43.579″ would really surprise me.
Besides, using 4″ as one factor. not even 4.00″ … invalidates most of the 20 or 30 significant figures of the other dimensions.
I was lazy (lacy, in this case? ;-)) and just cped the results from Ubuntu’s calculator – basic functions were more than enough.
I agree with you, and some rounding up would help that poor dame a lot, too…
As there is no evidence to the contrary, the primary figures I used are considered by me to be “god” figures; no error.
Therefore, the measureable size type figures are well inside the 30 figures I derived and simply cut and pasted from the calculator Windows 10 supplies. Indeed, 0.000,000,000,000,99999….∞ of a metre, is a size smaller than the diameter of a Francium atom (the largest atom); under proper conditions it is generally accepted that a normal human eye can perceive 0.000,1 of a metre.
As for not using Pythagoras (and the hard way), use of the calculator and its built in functions isn’t exactly difficult. Your final figures are probably accurate, but, weird though it no doubt is, I find it amusing to post all the figures when I’m just fooling around.
In my opinion, understanding is more important.
Your way is much too complicated.
Yes; trigonometry derives from Pythagoras’s laws, but why complicate something easy to remember?
“I find it amusing to post all the figures when I’m just fooling around.”
And, then there’s just reading the joke, chuckling, and moving on…. too much analysis can really take the “funny” out of it. But, that’s just my opinion.
Oh, my, Stel! You stirred up a lot of memories in me. This was a very formative time.
Most of the songs come back right away, like Let the Nap Begin or Easy to just howl. But I couldn’t remember the words for William Shakebone’s “What a piece of Work is Dog. ” Maybe some others can remind me.
What a piece of work is man How noble in reason How infinite in faculties In form and moving How express and admirable In action how like an angel In apprehension how like a god The beauty of the world The paragon of animals I have of late But wherefore I know not Lost all my mirth This goodly frame The earth Seems to me a sterile promontory This most excellent canopy The air, look you This brave o’erhanging firmament This majestical roof Fretted with golden fire Why it appears no other thing to me Than a foul and pestilent congregation Of vapors What a piece of work is man How noble is reason ………………………………….. How dare they try to end this beauty? How dare they try to end this beauty? Walking in space We find the purpose of peace The beauty of life You can no longer hide Our eyes are open Our eyes are open Our eyes are open Our eyes are open Wide Wide Wide
(It was too late in the night to go looking for the original basset lyrics, but I’m sure I may be able to find them in the light of day! If memory serves me, though, it’s basically the same lyrics, except for the first line: “What a piece of work is dog”.)
dennisinseattle
Member
2 years ago
As far as letting it grow until it stops by itself, well, that ain’t what it used to be. I haven’t cut my hair in 20 years, but it lands about an inch or two below my shoulders. And there is this discouraging thin patch up top. I can’t grow it long enough to make up for what I am losing.
I haven’t had a real haircut since 2005. I got so irritated when I had to go home and trim it up myself. I decided I could do it just fine. What really made me mad is when I told them I wanted it just the same only an inch shorter. After they washed my hair, they would always ask me what side my bangs were on. I would think they would take notice when I said I wanted it just the same. Anyways, I’ve saved a lot of money……and I still get complemented on my hair.
i go to a great hairdresser about every 6 weeks, she remembers what i want. i used to give MMM’s haircut about the same time frame until Parkinson’s Plus hit me. i can’t seem to use scissors and clippers with only one hand. so, we wait for one of the kids to come up.
I believe the psychedelic beagle is the work of artist Dean Russo, but where you found this particular version (I found several very close ones leading to my belief), StelBel, eludes me.
Long hair is BACK; I love it. I work with a bunch of Millennial Hippies. PhD Chemists, brilliant bio-chemical engineers, and process engineers, in their mid-twenties to early thirties, with hair streaming past their shoulders, tied back in pony tails, or fritzed out 10″ in all directions.
I forget the exact wording, but all I got was a “site unreachable Cleo and Company took too long to respond” type message. No picture.
Apparently the one you got goes directly back to nighthawks’ site and its connection to WordPress. LINK
yes, in the afternoon for a few hours the site was pretty much done….. I went
to the WordPress help desk and they assured me it was their problem and not
our site and that the crack team of professionals at WordPress were aware of
the problem and would fix it shortly.
and, they did
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s red-lipped daughter.
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—
“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”
He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
PART TWO
He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching—
Marching—marching—
King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.
But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.
They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast!
“Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.
Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain.
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still.
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.
He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.
Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat
. . .
And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard.
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred.
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Thanks, ML !! I was howling to all of them last night.
perkycat
Member
Famed Member
2 years ago
I totally agree with MontanaLady. The poster and the song names are exceptional! This was one of the few musicals I saw on stage in Hollywood. Loved the music!
[human version]
Underrated band.
They may not have written their own songs, but they did arrange them, and preformed them very very well.
They performed many of my favorites.
Edgar Degas
Ha Ha!
1) A quick Google search indicates television screens are still sized based on the diagonal dimension of the screen.
2) Accepting the most common modern television aspect ratio of 16:9.
Tangent 9/16 = 0.5625 which yields an angle of 29.357753542791272457179755551199° Sine 29.357753542791272457179755551199° = 0.49026123963255897236328034322957
Cosine 29.357753542791272457179755551199° = 0.87157553712454928420138727685257
0.49026123963255897236328034322957 × 50 = 24.513061981627948618164017161479″ as the screen height
0.87157553712454928420138727685257 × 50 = 43.578776856227464210069363842628″ as the screen width.
Allowing 4″ for trim and 4″ for depth she’s hiding an overall 47.578776856227464210069363842628″ × 28.513061981627948618164017161479″ × 4″ object.
Aside from “very carefully,” how does she walk?
Edited in a bit later.
The actual painting is “Maria Luisa of Parma wearing Panniers” – Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes
The following quote:
“ Panniers or side hoops are women’s undergarments worn in the 17th and 18th centuries to extend the width of the skirts at the side while leaving the front and back relatively flat. This provided a panel where woven patterns, elaborate decorations and rich embroidery could be displayed and fully appreciated.”
Comes from HERE
Simple right-triangle geometry: (in inches)
√(50²÷(16²+9²)) = 2,723673554 (hypotenuse squared divided by the sum of both squared sides)
2,723673554*16 = 43,578776856 (width)
2,723673554*9 = 24,513061982 (height)
Even with your legit assumptions concerning trim and depth – her dress could cover more than that.
Concerning her walking – cramped…
Good grief… I know you like to do things the hard way, and you love to see those looooong numbers…
But you already have the hypotenuse and the ratio… so as Tigressy already pointed out, you only need the Pythagorean theorem for this, not trigonometry.
…
And, AFAIK, there is nothing on the planet built to a tolerance of 30 significant figures!
I’m not a scientist, and I admit that I don’t know about tolerances involving nanobots or electron microscopes…
but I’ll take any bet against television set measurements being accurate to more than 6 or 7 significant figures… already about two more than I think.
Even 43.579″ would really surprise me.
Besides, using 4″ as one factor. not even 4.00″ … invalidates most of the 20 or 30 significant figures of the other dimensions.
Sooo…. LOL… I think 47½ by 28½ will do!
I was lazy (lacy, in this case? ;-)) and just cped the results from Ubuntu’s calculator – basic functions were more than enough.
I agree with you, and some rounding up would help that poor dame a lot, too…
As there is no evidence to the contrary, the primary figures I used are considered by me to be “god” figures; no error.
Therefore, the measureable size type figures are well inside the 30 figures I derived and simply cut and pasted from the calculator Windows 10 supplies. Indeed, 0.000,000,000,000,99999….∞ of a metre, is a size smaller than the diameter of a Francium atom (the largest atom); under proper conditions it is generally accepted that a normal human eye can perceive 0.000,1 of a metre.
As for not using Pythagoras (and the hard way), use of the calculator and its built in functions isn’t exactly difficult.
Your final figures are probably accurate, but, weird though it no doubt is, I find it amusing to post all the figures when I’m just fooling around.
In my opinion, understanding is more important.
Your way is much too complicated.
Yes; trigonometry derives from Pythagoras’s laws, but why complicate something easy to remember?
“I find it amusing to post all the figures when I’m just fooling around.”
And, then there’s just reading the joke, chuckling, and moving on…. too much analysis can really take the “funny” out of it. But, that’s just my opinion.
Is that anything like Hair of the Dog ?
I think so.
Great poster & great song titles.
Thanks soooo much!!
Oh, my, Stel! You stirred up a lot of memories in me. This was a very formative time.
Most of the songs come back right away, like Let the Nap Begin or Easy to just howl. But I couldn’t remember the words for William Shakebone’s “What a piece of Work is Dog. ” Maybe some others can remind me.
‘What a Piece of Work is Man’
What a piece of work is man
How noble in reason
How infinite in faculties
In form and moving
How express and admirable
In action how like an angel
In apprehension how like a god
The beauty of the world
The paragon of animals
I have of late
But wherefore I know not
Lost all my mirth
This goodly frame
The earth
Seems to me a sterile promontory
This most excellent canopy
The air, look you
This brave o’erhanging firmament
This majestical roof
Fretted with golden fire
Why it appears no other thing to me
Than a foul and pestilent congregation
Of vapors
What a piece of work is man
How noble is reason
…………………………………..
How dare they try to end this beauty?
How dare they try to end this beauty?
Walking in space
We find the purpose of peace
The beauty of life
You can no longer hide
Our eyes are open
Our eyes are open
Our eyes are open
Our eyes are open
Wide
Wide
Wide
(It was too late in the night to go looking for the original basset lyrics, but I’m sure I may be able to find them in the light of day! If memory serves me, though, it’s basically the same lyrics, except for the first line: “What a piece of work is dog”.)
As far as letting it grow until it stops by itself, well, that ain’t what it used to be. I haven’t cut my hair in 20 years, but it lands about an inch or two below my shoulders. And there is this discouraging thin patch up top. I can’t grow it long enough to make up for what I am losing.
My hair has gotten shorter too… I realised just recently that it probably no longer reaches the length I used to have it trimmed to.
When dry, it has always hung to the middle of my back, but it’s quite wavy.
…
If I tilted my head back momentarily so I could grab some, I could stretch it out straight to just past my waist….
Which of course is what another hairstylist would do, as well, to trim it.
I layer it and cut my bangs myself (don’t do this at home!) when I need to.
But I haven’t had a real haircut (or given one) since quarantine started 2 years ago, so I was thinking it might have gotten longer on the bottom.
….
On the contrary, I found that it no longer reaches my hand when I tilt my head back, so I can’t pull it straight to see how long it is.
Maybe I can’t reach as high, either, but I don’t think so.
End of an era.
I haven’t had a real haircut since 2005. I got so irritated when I had to go home and trim it up myself. I decided I could do it just fine. What really made me mad is when I told them I wanted it just the same only an inch shorter. After they washed my hair, they would always ask me what side my bangs were on. I would think they would take notice when I said I wanted it just the same. Anyways, I’ve saved a lot of money……and I still get complemented on my hair.
i go to a great hairdresser about every 6 weeks, she remembers what i want. i used to give MMM’s haircut about the same time frame until Parkinson’s Plus hit me. i can’t seem to use scissors and clippers with only one hand. so, we wait for one of the kids to come up.
my hair thinned out from Chemo. MMM still grows super thick and when our NC son visits for a spell, guess what he gets to do!
And on top of that…
(sorry)
My forehead is expanding!
I saw what you did.
LOL
I believe the psychedelic beagle is the work of artist Dean Russo, but where you found this particular version (I found several very close ones leading to my belief), StelBel, eludes me.
blueberry pie
Back to “Perro” episode 8, of Wednesday, March 3, 2021 and the Blue Berry pie filling I posted because of the “Great Pie Fight” extra bit. Blueberry Pie (Filling for putting directly in crust)
Pie crust recipe from HERE
mmmm… blueberry pie. and. healthy too.
with the amount of sugar in there, healthy is a stretch
Do NOT ruin blueberry pie for me!!!!!
Now I can’t stop howling those great songs…
in spite of the remarks I get.
…
Can I help it if I can’t carry a howl?
So howl along with me…. howl as though no one is listening…
unless, you know, someone is, and it bothers him/her…
in which case… howl in the bathroom, or wherever you can howl alone…
….
‘Fur! (Fur! Fur! Fur! Fur! Fur! Fur!)
Grow it, show it
Long as I can grow it
My fur….
I let it fly in the breeze
And get caught in the trees
Give a home to the fleas in my fur.
A home for fleas…
A hive for the buzzin’ bees (buzzin’ beeeeeeeesssss)
A nest for birds…
There ain’t no words,
For the beauty, the splendor, the wonder
Of my…
FUR!”
…
Humans, especially male humans, fought to grow their hair long, in the 60’s and 70’s…
Hard to believe that was 50ish years ago.
Since then, they’ve grown complacent…. most have gone back to shorter hair…
But it’s usually no longer an issue, or a political statement, simply fashion, or practicality.
….
To this day, though, not many basset hounds dare to grow their fur long…. But a few brave ones do.
…
Boomer is a pure-blooded basset, but disqualified from shows because he chose to grow his hair!
Free Boomer!
Peace, brother basset….
woodpile basset
woodpile basset?
If you’re implying what I think you’re implying…
According to his breeder, there was no unauthorized hanky panky…
Boomer is an AKC registered basset hound whose fur came in long.
Apparently it’s a rare gene, but it exists…
and like what happened to the guys I knew in 1970, he gets rejected by authority figures just because of it.
. ..
I think he’s beautiful… but I always HAVE liked long hair.
It looks like somebody shaved the tips of his ears…. but just look at that gorgeous tail!
Since the pandemic, a lot of guys have gone back to long hair and beards. Unfortunately, too many don’t know how to style them
…style?
Most guys I know, friend or clients, don’t “style” their hair.
I’d say most of the ones over 50… maybe 60 now… have never owned anything like mousse or gel, unless it was butch wax when they were 10.
It’s a hard sell even to Gen X.
…
They rely on a good haircut…
And when the scissors have to come out at home, it’s bye bye shape or style.
Give Boomer a treat for me.
And, I love that photo of Boomer!!!
Long hair is BACK; I love it. I work with a bunch of Millennial Hippies. PhD Chemists, brilliant bio-chemical engineers, and process engineers, in their mid-twenties to early thirties, with hair streaming past their shoulders, tied back in pony tails, or fritzed out 10″ in all directions.
I like it too.
Fifteen, twenty years ago, I worked a few days every summer at a health fair/music festival…
There were loads of “nouveau hippies”… 20 year old guys in tie dyed t-shirts and pony tails…
Some even barefoot with ankle bracelets.
Then some of them seemed to disappear…. into corporate jobs and haircuts, I guess…. but the next batch are appearing. Yay.
I was sleeping in my chair a while ago… OKAY, OKAY… I admit it…
but I really need to get in bed.
before I go… everybody was talking in the last couple of days about problems with this site.
I had a few times I couldn’t log in… and some problems when the main image wouldn’t display at first… but I thought that all went away.
….
Earlier today, though, when I tried to come back to respond to yesterday’s comments, the site wouldn’t open at all…
I got an error message with an image I’ve never seen before.
Did anybody else see this one:
….
In case it’s too small to read:
“Something’s come undone.
Sorry, this page can’t be reached because of a database connection issue.”
“If this is your website, you can read more about the issue or contact support to get help.”
I forget the exact wording, but all I got was a “site unreachable Cleo and Company took too long to respond” type message. No picture.
Apparently the one you got goes directly back to nighthawks’ site and its connection to WordPress. LINK
i couldn’t get on. no message, though.
yes, in the afternoon for a few hours the site was pretty much done….. I went
to the WordPress help desk and they assured me it was their problem and not
our site and that the crack team of professionals at WordPress were aware of
the problem and would fix it shortly.
and, they did
Gotta love Dog Hair
Good Thursday morning, Cleo poster phans!
Y’all have a super day! (((((HuGz!)))))
…and that’s her revenge for him failing to show her all the clowns he was working with.
Here is a great poem to read:
The Highwayman
BY ALFRED NOYES
PART ONE
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard.
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred.
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s red-lipped daughter.
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—
“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”
He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
PART TWO
He did not come in the dawning. He did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
When the road was a gypsy’s ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching—
Marching—marching—
King George’s men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord. They drank his ale instead.
But they gagged his daughter, and bound her, to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.
They had bound a musket beside her, with the muzzle beneath her breast!
“Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.
Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love’s refrain.
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horsehoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The red coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still.
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer. Her face was like a light.
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.
He turned. He spurred to the west; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o’er the musket, drenched with her own blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
The landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high.
Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat
. . .
And still of a winter’s night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard.
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred.
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord’s daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
Loreena McKennitt did this in “The Book of Secrets” album. Over ten minutes of eerie.
Here is the original one you wanted. It’s got some weird coding associated with it.
Caption: “Rabbits at Yala National Park in Sri Lanka”
Rabbit ears of the 50’s
hahahaaaa
BUNNY!
,
Is that a Norwegian blue?
Yes! Yes you are a handsome boy!
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It’s a good thing they’re in those folders. I’m not sure I would have wanted to put my tongue on them otherwise.
Stel, your poster for DogHair is very well done! i especially enjoyed the names of the songs. several earworms today.
Thanks, ML !! I was howling to all of them last night.
I totally agree with MontanaLady. The poster and the song names are exceptional! This was one of the few musicals I saw on stage in Hollywood. Loved the music!
Thanks, PC !! I’ve seen it live 4 times….always excellent!!