I never knew that the
New Yorker magazine fact-checks the poetry it publishes. There's a lovely article about it
here. This seems to me a splendid notion. Had Shakespeare been fact-checked,
Prospero wouldn't have been smuggled, under cover of darkness, down to the docks in Milan;
Perdita wouldn't have been abandoned on the coasts of land-locked Bohemia; and Cleopatra wouldn't have talked of being
hanged from the pyramids.
Moreover, had a proper proof-reader been set the task of going over
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, the first line might have been the
grammatically correct:
Let us go then, you and me,
Not strictly accurate
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