We will give you sleepy drinks
though our conscience from us shrinks
so that you'll not testify
that our land can't satisfy
what you've left behind at home;
we're but lead to your bright chrome!
Do not sneap me, dearest friend,
if I find words without end
in the Shakespeare plays I read
which do make my eyeballs bleed.
I am having much travail
as I read The Winter's Tale!
I have tremor cordis on me;
I'm as skittish as a colt.
If I do not soon becalm myself
I'm likely off to bolt.
This reading Willy Shakespeare
is a tough nut I must crack --
otherwise I'm liable to
succumb to heart attack!
If credent I must be with thy
glorious and welkin eye;
dearest collop, bawcock sweet,
you make me pant and sigh and bleat.
What disease I may have caught
that I feel well and yet am not
is more than I can conjure, friend;
what physick here will make amend?
There's some ill planet reigns
that means to break my heart;
accused sans any cause,
I'm forced now to depart.
Farewell, fair reputation;
destroyed beyond repair --
unfriended now, my hopes lay
with no one and nowhere.
No comments:
Post a Comment