Текст Theatre Of Tragedy – A Hamlet For A Slothful Vassal

Behold a jocund morn indeed
Sun on high — birds in sky
Yonder the whist firth eathing
Fro where a gale erranteth

Ye beholdest but the shadow
That is a lie
Mayhap a tithe of trothplight
Lief I am not
I deem — e’er and anon
My words are but a twist
Tis a feigned lie through loathing
I say
To and fro, save hither
Is thy love
A dotard gaffer, I daresay
Not a loth
But vying for my kinsmen
…a sapling not
Beautiful tyrant
Fiend angelical
Dove-feathered raven
Wolvish-ravening lamb
A Hamlet for a slothful vassal
Soothing ale for a parched sot
Hie to tell me
What ye judgest as naught
I behold the shadow
Wherefore call me such names
Nay imp am I
Thou art my aghast hart

E’er thou sayest aye
That is a lie
Thief of a plot
Lief I am not
Now go to thy tryst
My words are but a twist
Go, leave, totter
Fare well! — with joy I came
Until ye dwindlest
With rue I leave
A morsel, nay more
Even the orb cannot
For thy journey
Help me melt the ice?
Hither and thither