If all the world’s a stage,
And all its peoples merely players,
Then whatever play they may display
Plays a role in their role-play.
Which mask dost thou don
Or cloak thy shoulders drape
Meaning to disguise thy demeanor
Of meanness in guise of mien?
To prance in pomp
As the hero, firm his stance
To be steadfast, though instead he fast
Hold of mead to drown his stead?
To swoon with grace
As the damsel, purest ideal,
Yet chastity yield to the chasing titty
And virginity crumbles with gin.
Hurl forth the wrench
As the villain, hating the world
Though his downfall is falling down
Into drunken ego and spirits.
Long live the fool
Who sees the world as a joke
And is not afeared to drink drink ‘til drunk
Nor implicate falsely placated designs.
He spies the game
Concealed behind purpose
And understands that standing under reason
Is reason enough to pine for a pint.
Morning's Early Dark 