The Final Couplet Podcast By Theo Cowan cover art

The Final Couplet

The Final Couplet

By: Theo Cowan
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About this listen

Join me, Theo Cowan, as I desperately attempt to work out what the hell William Shakespeare was going on about in all those sonnets. Don't worry, I create stupid little stories to accompany each one so you don't get too bored.Theo Cowan Art
Episodes
  • Shakespeare's Sonnet 109
    Jun 15 2025

    Wow, you can watch this as a video now!

    In this episode I discuss Shakespeare's Sonnet 109 which is all about infidelity and time apart.

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    22 mins
  • Shakespeare's Sonnet 108
    Jun 8 2025

    Shakespeare talks about how hard it is to write new things about your love!


    Our story continues with Shakespeare and The Earl of Southampton


    Sonnet 108

    What's in the brain that ink may character
    Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
    What's new to speak, what now to register,
    That may express my love, or thy dear merit?
    Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
    I must each day say o'er the very same;
    Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
    Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name.
    So that eternal love in love's fresh case,
    Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
    Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
    But makes antiquity for aye his page;
    Finding the first conceit of love there bred,
    Where time and outward form would show it dead.



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    23 mins
  • Shakespeare's Sonnet 107
    Jun 1 2025

    Do we have a new character on the block? Is he called The Earl Of Southampton? Was he in prison? Lots of questions in this Sonnet!


    Sonnet 107

    Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
    Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
    Can yet the lease of my true love control,
    Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom.
    The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd
    And the sad augurs mock their own presage;
    Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd
    And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
    Now with the drops of this most balmy time
    My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes,
    Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme,
    While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes;
    And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
    When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.

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    27 mins
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