#burton
‘TERENCE, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There can’t be much amiss, ’tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
It gives a chap the belly-ache.
The cow, the old cow, she is dead;
It sleeps well, the horned head:
We poor lads, ’tis our turn now
To hear such tunes as killed the cow.
Pretty friendship ’tis to rhyme
Your friends to death before their time
Moping melancholy mad:
Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.’
Why, if ’tis dancing you would be,
There’s brisker pipes than poetry.
Say, for what were hop-yards meant,
Or why was Burton built on Trent?
Oh many a peer of England brews
Livelier liquor than the Muse,
And malt does more than Milton can
To justify God’s ways to man.
Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think:
Look into the pewter ***
To see the world as the world’s not.
And faith, ’tis pleasant till ’tis past:
The mischief is that ’twill not last.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie God knows where,
And carried half way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a sterling lad;
And down in lovely muck I’ve lain,
Happy till I woke again.
Then I saw the morning sky:
Heigho, the tale was all a lie;
The world, it was the old world yet,
I was I, my things were wet,
And nothing now remained to do
But begin the game anew.
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
I wouldn't like to be a naiad
Unless I could swim through dirt
Then when you ceased to breathe,
I'd rest beside your corpse in earth.
I wouldn't like to be a dolly.
My heart filled with needles and pins.
Every time you near me,
They always sink further in.
I wouldn't like to be a shadow.
Unless I was cast in your light.
So that I may be with you,
Even in the darkest night.
I wouldn't mind being a kiss.
I don't quite make the cut.
How can two lips join,
If one set is sewn shut?
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC