What if, what may
Who cannot avoid the sway.
Of words gone past and futures dark,
All fall be nay marked.
Concubine of cautious connivers,
You all have nought to leave.
For in this utter dance you care to fake,
You have yet learnt to believe
So on again off again,
This is the last you'll hear of me.
Just dance your sweet little steps,
And ignore my fiddle-de-dee.