LADY MACBETH
Was the hope drunk
Wherein you dress'd yourself? Hath it slept since?
And wakes it now to look so green and pale
At what it did so freely? From this time
Such I account thy love. Art thou afeard
To be the same in thine own act and valour
As thou art in desire? Wouldst thou have that
Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life,
And live a coward in thine own esteem,
Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would,'
Like the poor cat i' the adage?


Shakespeare - Macbeth I/vii

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Currently reading: Will Self, Dr Mukti & Other Tales of Woe

Reading 2010

THE POBBLE WHO HAS NO TOES

by: Edward Lear (1812-1888)

The Pobble who has no toes
Had once as many as we;
When they said, "Some day you may lose them all,"
He replied, "Fish fiddle de-dee!"
And his Aunt Jobiska made him drink
Lavender water tinged with pink;
For she said, "The World in general knows
There's nothing so good for a Pobble's toes!"

The Pobble who has no toes
Swam across the Bristol Channel;
But before he set out he wrapped his nose
In a piece of scarlet flannel.
For his Aunt Jobiska said, "No harm
Can come to his toes if his nose is warm;
And it's perfectly known that a Pobble's toes
Are safe--provided he minds his nose."

The Pobble swam fast and well,
And when boats or ships came near him,
He tinkledy-blinkledy-winkled a bell
So that all the world could hear him.
And all the Sailors and Admirals cried,
When they saw him nearing the farther side,
"He has gone to fish for his Aunt Jobiska's
Runcible Cat with crimson whiskers!"

But before he touched the shore--
The shore of the Bristol Channel,
A sea-green Porpoise carried away
His wrapper of scarlet flannel.
And when he came to observe his feet,
Formerly garnished with toes so neat,
His face at once became forlorn
On perceiving that all his toes were gone!

And nobody ever knew,
From that dark day to the present,
Whoso had taken the Pobble's toes,
In a manner so far from pleasant.
Whether the shrimps or crawfish gray,
Or crafty mermaids stole them away,
Nobody knew; and nobody knows
How the Pobble was robbed of his twice five toes!

The Pobble who has no toes
Was placed in a friendly Bark,
And they rowed him back and carried him up
To his Aunt Jobiska's Park.
And she made him a feast at his earnest wish,
Of eggs and buttercups fried with fish;
And she said, "It's a fact the whole world knows,
That Pobbles are happier without their toes."

There was a Baboon
Who one aftrenoon
said 'I think i will fly to the sun'
So with two great palms,
strapped to his arms,
He started his take-off run.

Mile after mile,
he galloped in style,
but never once left the ground,
'You're running too slow',
Said a passing crow,
'try reaching the speed of sound'.

So he put on a spurt,
By god how it hurt,
The soles of his feet caught fire,
There were great clouds of steam,
As he raced through the stream,
But he still didn't get any higher.

Racing on through the night,
Both his knees caught alight,
And smoke billowed out from his rear,
Quick to his aid
Came a fire brigade
Who chased him for over a year,

Many moons passed,
Did Baboon ever fly?
Did he ever get to the sun?
I've just heard today,
That he's well on his way,
He'll be passing through Acton at one.

P.S. Well, what did you expect from a Baboon?

Silly Old Baboon by Spike Milligan

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'Travel, and you will see the meaning of things.' A Moroccan proverb.

Currently reading Wheels Within Wheels by Dervla Murphy

Book List 2010

Book List 2009

Book List 2008

“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismay’d?
Not tho’ the soldier knew
Some one had blunder’d.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

From: Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "The Charge of the Light Brigade"

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Currently reading: Will Self, Dr Mukti & Other Tales of Woe

Reading 2010

Who killed Cock Robin?
I, said the Sparrow,
with my bow and arrow,
I killed Cock Robin.

Who saw him die?
I, said the Fly,
with my little eye,
I saw him die.

Who'll dig his grave?
I, said the Owl,
with my pick and shovel,
I'll dig his grave.

Who'll bear the pall?
We, said the Wren,
both the cock and the hen,
We'll bear the pall.

Who'll sing a psalm?
I, said the Thrush,
as she sat on a bush,
I'll sing a psalm.

Who'll toll the bell?
I said the bull,
because I can pull,
I'll toll the bell.

All the birds of the air
fell a-sighing and a-sobbing,
when they heard the bell toll
for poor Cock Robin.

The bull is almost certainly a bullfinch. There is no reason to suppose this rhyme has anything to do with the fall of Robert Walpole's ministry, the death of Balder, or Robin Hood; but there is reason to believe that it is very old.

Would that not have been better placed in the Nursery Rhymes thread?

Sorry, I think it was me who lowered the tone with the Pobble! I'll try harder this time

Anthem for Doomed Youth - Wilfred Owen

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them; no prayers nor bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, --
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.