a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

richard burton - elegy i - jealosie كلمات أغنية

fond woman, which wouldst have thy husband die
and yet complain’st of his great jealousy;
if swoll’n with poison, he lay in his last bed
his body with a sere_bark covered
drawing his breath, as thick and short, as can
the nimblest crocheting musician
ready with loathsome vomiting to spew
his soul out of one h_ll, into a new
made deaf with his poor kindred’s howling cries
begging with few feigned tears, great legacies
thou wouldst not weep, but jolly and frolic be
as a slave, which tomorrow should be free;
yet weep’st thou, when thou seest him hungerly
swallow his own death, heart’s_bane jеalousy
o give him many thanks, he is courteous
that in suspеcting kindly warneth us
we must not, as we used, flout openly
in scoffing riddles, his deformity;
nor at his board together being sat
with words, nor touch, scarce looks adulterate
nor when he swoll’n, and pampered with great fare
sits down, and snorts, caged in his basket chair
must we usurp his own bed any more
nor kiss and play in his house, as before
now i see many dangers; for that is
his realm, his castle, and his diocese
but if, as envious men, which would revile
their prince, or coin his gold, themselves exile
into another country, and do it there
we play in another house, what should we fear?
there we will scorn his houshold policies
his silly plots, and pensionary spies
as the inhabitants of thames’ right side
do london’s mayor; or germans, the pope’s pride

- richard burton

كلمات أغنية عشوائية

كلمات الأغنية الشائعة حالياً