Elegy to a broken Net
Friends, Netizens, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury the Net, not to praise it;
The evil that men do lives after them,
The good is oft interred with their bones,
So let it be with the Net … The noble centurion
Hath told you telecom was essential:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath the Net answered it …
Here, under leave of the centurion and the rest,
(For the centurion is an honourable man;
So are they all; all honourable men)
Come I to speak in the Net’s funeral …
He was my friend, faithful and just to me:
But the centurion says he was essential;
And the centurion is an honourable man….
Telecom hath brought many businesses home,
whose earnings did general services fill:
For this, did the Net seem essential?
When that the poor have cried, the Net has wept:
Blasphemy should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet the centurion says he was essential;
And the centurion is an honourable man.
You all did see that in this century
It thrice presented us unfettered access to knowledge,
Which we did thrice refuse: was this essential?
Yet the centurion says it is essential;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disparage what the centurion did,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?
O judgement! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason…. Bear with me;
My future is in the coffin there with the Net,
And I must pause till it come back to me.
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