Letter of the Week: I do desire we may be better strangers.

Not so much brain as earwax. So, Robert Kirby, you don’t like Shakespeare’s “archaic words” (The Tribune, Aug. 17)?

Thou art a boil, a plague-sore, an embossed carbuncle, a crusty botch of nature. Methinks you are highly fed and lowly taught, a beetle-headed, flap-ear’d knave. Thou call thyself a writer, but thou art a long-tongu’d babbling gossip, the anointed sovereign of sighs and groans. A fusty nut with no kernel. O gull, o dolt, as ignorant as dirt, thou art the quintessence of dust, a bolting-hutch of beastliness, a swollen parcel of dropsies. Thou art stark spoiled with the staggers, begnawn with the bots.

I do desire we may be better strangers.

Robert Argenbright

Salt Lake City