I love a ballad in print alife, for then we are sure they are true.
(William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Mopsa, in The Winter's Tale, act 4, sc. 4, l. 260-1.
"Alife" means on my life, dearly; the peasant girl thinks anything in print must be true.)
She growing up in a classic rock ballad background with many house rule where rock ballad growth within her classy and posh style trend within her boy's best friend's in childhood memory
received roses for no purpose familiar face a forgotten name as she grown up to be the young women she become within her
Growing up with a musician background learning rock classic & pop ballad voice it out through your sentimental vocal an artistic mind of visualized of art within you brought out through the inspired artistic side of William Shakespeare player a poet and art work of Vincent van Gogh artistic side never grow old within your inner child.
Prove that ever I lose more blood with love than I will get again with drinking, pick out mine eyes with a ballad-maker's pen and hang me up at the door of a brothel-house for the sign of blind Cupid.
(William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Benedick, in Much Ado About Nothing, act 1, sc. 1, l. 250-4.
sighing was thought to dry up the blood, and drinking wine to produce new blood; Benedick scorns the very idea of love by associating it with sentimental ballads and the brothel-house. Cupid was often depicted with blindfold eyes, since his arrows were shot at random.)
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then, a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big, manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange, eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
(William Shakespeare (1564-1616), British dramatist, poet. Jaques, in As You Like It, act 2, sc. 7, l. 139-66 (1623).)