Begone, dull care!
I prithee, begone from me
Begone, dull care!
You and I shall never agree
Long time hast thou been tarrying here
And fain thou wouldst me kill
But in faith, dull care
Thou never shall have thy will.
Too much care
Will make a man turn grey
And too much care
Will turn an old man to clay
My wife shall dance and I shall sing
So merrily pass the day
For I hold it one of the wisest things
To drive dull care away.
Traditional ballad, author unknown.
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To love for the sake of being loved is human;
but to love for the sake of loving is angelic.
Alphonse de Lamartine 1790-1869
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Children look down upon the morning-grey
Tissue of mist that veils a valley’s lap:
Their fingers itch to tear it and unwrap
The flags, the roundabouts, the gala day.
They watch the spring rise inexhaustibly—
A breathing thread out of the eddied sand,
Sufficient to their day: but half their mind
Is on the sailed and glittering estuary.
Fondly we wish their mist might never break,
Knowing it hides so much that best were hidden:
We’d chain them by the spring, lest it should broaden
For them into a quicksand and a wreck.
But they must slip through our fingers like the source,
Like mist, like time that has flagged out their course.
C. Day Lewis
This is the second of a sequence of nine sonnets called ‘O Dreams O Destinations’. You can hear the poet read it himself in the You Tube video below.
Do hikers’ feet in these our times
Walk upon England’s mountains green?
And are there noisy picnickers
On England’s pleasant pastures seen?
And do the hordes from coach and car
Turn grassy hills to rubbish-dumps?
And were there trees and hedges once
Where leer these rows of petrol-pumps?
Bring we great store of paper bags!
Bring cartons, bottles, tons no less!
Litter, be spread! Wrappers, unfold!
Bring me more things to make a mess.
I will not cease from graceless ways,
Nor stay my devastating hand,
Until we have a dust-bin made
Of England’s green and pleasant land.
(Google can find no trace of this gentleman, which I presume is a nom de plume, assumed in defence against those doughty ladies of the Women’s Institute, for whom Blake’s ‘Jerusalem‘ is their national song)
‘Vandals’ (with apologies to William Blake)
From ‘The Perfect Holiday’ by Rose Henniker Heaton
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Of late years, the family has got hold of man, and begun to destroy him. When a man is clutched by his family, his deeper social instincts and intuitions are all thwarted, he becomes a negative thing.
D H Lawrence
I suspect that here DHL does not mean mankind when he says ‘man’. This is a verbalised version of the famous Thurber cartoon where the house and the housewife are one and the same, a looming, threatening presence.
What do you think? In my view, it is a wise woman who gives her man plenty of rope….
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Jut for fun, I am putting up the parody first… Jack Nicholson persuades Adam Sandler to try and use this song for anger management.
With apologies to the original: