I be the walrus.
Hold thy tongue, Donald! Thy mind is Lenten.
The quality of wealth has sicken'd me.
An had I known that this would come to pass
(O vilest strumpet! Sinner! Painted whore!)
I might have tarried ere accepting service.
War in far-flung jungles, as my friends
Did die face-down in mire and muck and fens!
I see connection not in argument
â€˜Twixt Bonnie and the wars of Orient.
â€˜Tis not connected literally, as rope,
But yet by stardust, thought-string, tears and hope.
Look well, my friend; there be no connection.
Take to thy roll, thy play for our selection.
[Enter JOSHUA QUINCE and LIAM O'BRIEN]
Hail, masters! I crave thine able readiness
To be dealt with roughly, as the Sodomites.
For men of sport have noted that our play
In semifinal hour draws on apace.
By Jove! I'll wager well, Liam and me,
To thrash thee soundly at the fair tourney.
Yea, well, that be, forsooth, thy opinion, sir.
Well; but be forewarn'd. It reach'd mine ears
That combustible Walter, o'ercome with rage
Did shed good sense, and raise his sword in play.
I fear not such jade's tricks, an seeing ill,
Would snatch the burden from the jealous knight
And pierce his gizzard with the wrongful steel,
Points up, as said of Coriolanus.
Thou speakest rightly, sir. No man misdeals with Joshua Quince, by Jesu.
[Exeunt QUINCE and O'BRIEN]
Nay, fear him not, nor his unworthy joys.
Recall the tragic tale of the pageboys.