There ‘s daggers in men’s smiles
I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none
THOU ART NOT FOR THE FASHION OF THESE TIMES, WHERE NONE WILL SWEAT BUT FOR PROMOTION.
UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE
WHO LOVES TO LIE WITH ME,
AND TURN HIS MERRY NOTE
UNTO THE SWEET BIRD’S THROAT,
COME HITHER, COME HITHER, COME HITHER:
HERE SHALL HE SEE
NO ENEMY
BUT WINTER AND ROUGH WEATHER.
WHAT DOTH GRAVITY OUT OF HIS BED AT MIDNIGHT?
IF SACK AND SUGAR BE FAULT, GOD HELP THE WICKED!
IF TO THE OLD AND MERRY BE A SIN, THEN MANY AN OLD HOST THAT I KNOW IS DAMNED:
IF TO BE FAT BE TO BE HATED, THEN PHARAOH’S LEAN KINE ARE TO BE LOVED.
THERE LIVE NOT THREE GOOD MEN UNHANGED IN ENGLAND, AND ONE OF THEM IS FAT AND GROWS OLD.
BY HEAVEN METHINKS IT WERE AN EASY LEAP
TO PLUCK BRIGHT HONOR FROM THE PALE-FAC’D MOON,
OR DIVE INTO THE BOTTOM OF THE DEEP,
WHERE FATHOM-LINE COULD NEVER TOUCH THE GROUND,
AND PLUCK UP DROWNED HONOR BY THE LOCKS.
TO LIVE A BARREN SISTER ALL YOUR LIFE, CHANTING HYMNS TO THE COLD FRUITLESS MOON.
FOR AUGHT THAT I COULD EVER READ,
COULD EVER HEAR BY TALE OR HISTORY,
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE NEVER DID RUN SMOOTH.
Rio Aubry Taylor presents LIGHTRIOT 