The Hidden Land

Chapter 1


Chapter 2


Chapter 3

page 27, lines 20-22.

So mortal that, but dip a knife in it, where it draws blood, no cataplasm so rare can save the thing from death that is but scratched withal.

Shakespeare, Hamlet, IV, vii, 142.

page 30, lines 10-11.

Thou cream-faced loon! Where gotst thou that goose-look?

Shakespeare, Macbeth, V, iii, 11.


Chapter 4

page 36, lines 16-17.

Confusion now hath made his masterpiece.

Shakespeare, Macbeth, II, iii, 72.

page 37, lines 30-31.

The bright day is done and we are for the dark.

Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra, V, ii, 192.


Chapter 5

page 55, line 5.

Funeral baked meats.

Shakespeare, Hamlet, I, ii, 180.


Chapter 6


Chapter 7


Chapter 8

page 82, line 39.

All my imperfections on my head.

Shakespeare, Hamlet, I, v, 79.

No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head.


Chapter 9

page 96, lines 30-32, 40-41; page 97, lines 3-4

Little Sir Hugh,” British ballad; as recorded by Steeleye Span

Mother, mother, make my bed
Make for me a winding sheet
Wrap me up in a cloak of gold
See if I can sleep

She set him in a golden chair
She gave him sugar sweet
She laid him on a dressing board
And stabbed him like a sheep


Chapter 10

page 102, beginning line 7.

Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,…

Shakespeare, Cymbeline, IV, ii, 258.

page 103, line 35

Sir Patrick Spens,” Scottish ballad

page 104-105.

The song’s the thing wherein we’ll catch the conscience of the conselor.

[play on] Shakespeare, Hamlet, II, ii, 612.

The play’s the thing Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King.

page 105, lines 41-42.

There lived a wife in Usher’s Well
A wealthy wife was she

The Wife of Usher’s Well,” Scottish ballad

page 106, lines 4-6.

A holiday, a holiday, in the first month of the year
Lord Donald’s wife rode in to town, some holy words to hear

Mattie Groves,” English ballad, as recorded by Fairport Convention.

page 106, lines 7-9.

’Twas in the merry moth of May
When green buds all were swelling
Sweet William on his death-bed lay
For love of Barbary Allen

Barbara Allen,” Scottish ballad

page 106, lines 10-11.

O what can ail thee, knight at arms,

Alone and palely loitering

Keats, “La Belle Dame sans Merci

page 106, lines 15-16.

Young women they run like hares on the mountain

Hares on the Mountain,” English folk song

page 106, beginning at line 21.

Oh, tell to me, Tam Lin, she said,

Tam Lin,” Scottish ballad

page 109, line 38.

Can you tell a hawk from a handsaw?

Shakespeare, Hamlet, II, ii, 406.

…I know a hawk from a handsaw.


Chapter 11

page 115, line 3.

[He] thinks too much; such men are dangerous.

Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, I, ii, 194.


Chapter 12


Chapter 13

page 133, lines 15-16.

There’s nothing either good nor bad, but thinking makes it so.

Shakespeare, Hamlet, II, ii, 259.


Chapter 14

page 149, lines 21-22.

Avenge our foul and most unnatural murder.

Shakespeare, Hamlet, I, v, 25.

Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.


Chapter 15

page 158, beginning at line 4.

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead, 

T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land, IV, Death By Water.


Chapter 16

page 166, lines 31-33.

…feeling that he knew why Hamlet had called his head a distracted globe and had seemed to doubt how long memory could hold its seat therein.

Shakespeare, Hamlet, I, v, 96.

…while memory holds a seat In this distracted globe.


Chapter 17

page 177, lines 34-36.

What is this world? What asketh men to have? Now with his love, now in his colde grave, allone, withouten any compaignye.

Chaucer, Canterbury Tales, The Knight’s Tale, lines 2777-2779.


Chapter 18

page 185, line 27.

You come most carefully upon your hour.

Shakespeare, Hamlet, I, i, 6.

page 188, lines 17-19.

Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, that not your trespass but my ruling speaks.

Shakespeare, Hamlet, III, iv, 145.

page 188, line 24.

Carrion comfort.

Gerard Manley Hopkins, No. 64, Carrion Comfort, line 1.

Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee.


Chapter 19

page 201, line 1.

These fragments have we shored against our ruins.

T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land, What the Thunder Said.

These fragments I have shored against my ruins.

page 201, lines 11-12.

…anguish moist and fever dew.

Keats, “La Belle Dame sans Merci

I see a lily on thy brow
     With Anguish moist and fever dew,