Laugh, Pagliaccio.
For sorrow now knocks,
and racks upon you
its thousand woes
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
As the mourning dew,
adorns your withered rose
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
For the thorny nest,
now covets.
That blackened heart
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
As from this bed,
you’ll never come to wrest;
Ever-nested in ****** vines.
You’ll writhe, each ****** day.
So forgo any and all hopes of rest
And—
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
Whilst the furrows deepen,
and the time for tears, comes down weepin’,
to dole over joys no more leapin’,
joys that strain, under sadness, now seepin’,
As unsown fruits ripen;
and become the unworthy’s reapin’
Truly,
heartbreak’s come
and taken all—
worth keepin’
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
Not for the people’s pay,
no—
for the fool that you are,
swayed as you were,
like child’s play.
Laugh, Pagliaccio.
The people restless;
clamour, bicker and fight.
In wait for their beloved Pagliaccio;
the clown with wit and humour rife.
So adorn your mug with that ghastly white,
and let them gaze.
Upon the clown of wit and humour rife;
not a man suffering under muted plight,
nor one vengeful;
of horrors, in spite.
For you, by fate have been chosen,
to carry,
this chip and blight.
Now, heavy heart, make light
and brave these jagged waters,
that ill-humour has tasked you smite
Go now!
Caper in. To the jester’s tent.
But beware;
be not seen under the searing light.