A little honey!
Ay, a little sweet,
A little pleasure when the years were young,
A joyous measure trod by dancing feet,
A tale of folly told by a loved tongue.
These are the things by which our hearts are wrung More than by tears.
Oh,
I would rather laugh,
So I had not to choose such tales among Which was most laughable.
Man's nobler half Resents mere sorrow.
I would rather sit With just the common crowd that watch the play And mock at harlequin and the clown's wit,
And call it tragedy and go my way.
I should not err, because the tragic part Lay not in these, but sealed in my own heart.
