| Fairfax. |
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Is life a boon? |
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If so, it must befall
That Death, whene'er he call, |
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Must call too soon |
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Though fourscore years he give,
Yet one would pray to live |
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Another moon! |
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What kind of plaint have I,
Who perish in July,
Who perish in July?
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I might have had to die, |
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Perchance, in June! |
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I might have had to die, |
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Perchance, in June! |
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Is life a thorn? |
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Then count it not a whit!
Nay, count it not a whit!
Man is well done with it; |
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Soon as he's born |
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He should all means essay
To put the plague away; |
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And I, war-worn, |
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Poor captured fugitive,
My life most gladly give—
I might have had to live, |
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Another morn! |
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I might have had to live, to live |
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Another morn! |
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At the end, Phœbe is led off, weeping, by Meryll.
Page Created
7 January, 2006
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