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‘TERENCE, this is stupid stuff: | |
You eat her victuals quick enough; | |
There can’t be much amiss, ’tis clear, | |
To view the rate you drink her beer. | |
But oh, an excellent Lord, the city you make, | 5 |
It provides 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 eliminated the cow. | 10 |
Pretty friendship ’tis come rhyme | |
Your friends to death prior to their time | |
Moping melancholy mad: | |
Come, pipeline a song to run to, lad.’ | |
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Why, if ’tis dance you would be, | 15 |
There’s brisker pipes 보다 poetry. | |
Say, for what to be hop-yards meant, | |
Or why was Burton developed on Trent? | |
Oh countless a peer the England brews | |
Livelier liquor 보다 the Muse, | 20 |
And malt does more than Milton can | |
To justification God’s ways to man. | |
Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink | |
For fellows whom it damages to think: | |
Look into the pewter pot | 25 |
To check out 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 mine necktie God knows where, | 30 |
And carried half way home, or near, | |
Pints and also quarts the Ludlow beer: | |
Then the world seemed none so bad, | |
And ns myself a sterling lad; | |
And under in lovely muck I’ve lain, | 35 |
Happy till i woke again. | |
Then I observed the morning sky: | |
Heigho, the tale was every a lie; | |
The world, it to be the old civilization yet, | |
I to be I, my things were wet, | 40 |
And nothing currently remained come do | |
But begin the game anew. | |
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Therefore, since the world has still | |
Much good, however much less an excellent than ill, | |
And when the sun and moon endure | 45 |
Luck’s a chance, yet trouble’s sure, | |
I’d confront it together a wise male would, | |
And train for ill and not for good. | |
’Tis true, the stuff I lug for sale | |
Is not so fast a brew together ale: | 50 |
Out of a stem that scored the hand | |
I wrung the in a weary land. | |
But take it it: if the smack is sour, | |
The much better for the embittered hour; | |
It should do an excellent to heart and head | 55 |
When your soul is in my soul’s stead; | |
And I will certainly friend you, if ns may, | |
In the dark and also cloudy day. | |
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There to be a king reigned in the East: | |
There, when queens will sit to feast, | 60 |
They get their fill prior to they think | |
With poisoned meat and also poisoned drink. | |
He gathered all the springs to birth | |
From the many-venomed earth; | |
First a little, thence come more, | 65 |
He sampled all her killing store; | |
And easy, smiling, jug sound, | |
Sate the king as soon as healths went round. | |
They put arsenic in his meat | |
And stared aghast to watch him eat; | 70 |
They poured strychnine in his cup | |
And shook to see him drink that up: | |
They shook, castle stared as white’s their shirt: | |
Them it was your poison hurt. | |
—I tell the tale that ns heard told.
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| 75 |
Mithridates, he died old. | |
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