A Hamlet For A Slothful Vassal — Theatre Of Tragedy

Behold a jocund morn indeed! - Sun on high - birds in sky. Yonder the whist firth eathing, Fro where a gale erranteth.

Ye beholdest but the shadow. Mayhap a tithe of trothplight - I deep - e'er and anon!

To and fro, save hither, Is thy love.

Not a loth! - But vying for my kinsmen!

Beautiful tyrant! Fiend Angelica! Dove-feathered raven! Woluish-ravening lamb! A hamlet for a slothful vassal - Soothing ale for a parched sot. Hie to tell me What ye judgest as naught I behold the shadow!

E'er thou sayest aye! Thief of a plot! Now go to thy tryst! Go, leave, totter! - Until ye dwindlest. A morsel, nay more, For thy journey Hither and thither!

That is a lie! Lief I am not! My words are but a twist Fare well! - with jiy I came, With rue I leave. Even the orb cannot. Help me melt the ice?

That is a lie! Lief I am not! My words are but a twist Tis a feigned lie through loathing, I say!

A dotard gaffer, I daresay...

...a sapling not!

Wherefore call me such names; Nay imp am I! Thou art my aghast hart - Gazing in the glade.