OK I Incipit liber primus
God turne us every dreem to gode
For hit is wonder, be the rode, To my wit, what causeth swevens Either on morwes, or on evens; And why the effect folweth of somme, And of somme hit shal never come; Why that is ...
In that soft season, when descending
Call forth the greens, and wake the rising flow'rs;
When op'ning buds salute the welcome day,
And earth relenting feels the genial day,
None other fame mine unambitious Muse Affected ever but t'eternize thee;
All other honors do my hopes refuse,
Which meaner priz'd and momentary be
For God forbid I should my papers blot With mercenary lines, with servile pen,
When I dieI don't care what happens to my bodythrow ashes in the air, scatter 'em in East Riverbury an urn in Elizabeth New Jersey,
B'nai Israel
But l want a big
St
Fame is the one that does not stay —
It's occupant must die
Or out of sight of estimate
Ascend incessantly —