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| If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine<br> | |||
| And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung<br> | |||
| Would you hear my voice come through the music<br> | |||
| Would you hold it near as it were your own?<br><br> | |||
| It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken<br> | |||
| ⚫ | 23. Now in regard there have been many such, as well | ||
| Perhaps they're better left unsung<br> | |||
| I don't know, don't really care<br> | |||
| Let there be songs to fill the air<br><br> | |||
| (Chorus)<br> | |||
| Ripple in still water<br> | |||
| When there is no pebble tossed<br> | |||
| Nor wind to blow<br><br> | |||
| Reach out your hand if your cup be empty<br> | |||
| If your cup is full may it be again<br> | |||
| Let it be known there is a fountain<br> | |||
| That was not made by the hands of men<br><br> | |||
| There is a road, no simple highway<br> | |||
| Between the dawn and the dark of night<br> | |||
| And if you go no one may follow<br> | |||
| That path is for your steps alone<br><br> | |||
| (Chorus)<br> | |||
| You who choose to lead must follow<br> | |||
| But if you fall you fall alone<br> | |||
| If you should stand then who's to guide you?<br> | |||
| If I knew the way I would take you home<br><br><br></center> | |||
| ⚫ | 23. Now in regard there have been many such, as well<br | ||
| among us as among the barbarians, who can bear with | among us as among the barbarians, who can bear with | ||
| those that reproach Venus that, being coupled and present | those that reproach Venus that, being coupled and present | ||
Revision as of 03:29, 18 October 2009
If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung
Would you hear my voice come through the music
Would you hold it near as it were your own?
It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken
Perhaps they're better left unsung
I don't know, don't really care
Let there be songs to fill the air
(Chorus)
Ripple in still water
When there is no pebble tossed
Nor wind to blow
Reach out your hand if your cup be empty
If your cup is full may it be again
Let it be known there is a fountain
That was not made by the hands of men
There is a road, no simple highway
Between the dawn and the dark of night
And if you go no one may follow
That path is for your steps alone
(Chorus)
You who choose to lead must follow
But if you fall you fall alone
If you should stand then who's to guide you?
23. Now in regard there have been many such, as well<br
among us as among the barbarians, who can bear with
those that reproach Venus that, being coupled and present
with Love, she becomes a hindrance of friendship?
Whereas any sober and considerate person may rather revile
the of male with male, and justly call it intemperance
and lasciviousness,
- A vile affront to Nature, no effect
- Of lovely Venus or of chaste respect.
- A vile affront to Nature, no effect
And therefore, as for those that willingly prostitute their
bodies, we look upon them to be the most wicked and flagitious
persons in the world, void of fidelity, neither endued
with modesty nor any thing of friendship ; and but too
truly and really, according to Sophocles,
- They who ne'er had such friends as these,
- Believe their blessing double ;
- And they that have them, pray the Gods
- To rid them of the trouble.•
- They who ne'er had such friends as these,
And as for those who, not being by nature lewd and wicked, were circumvented and forced to prostitute themselves, there are no men whom these always look upon with greater suspicion and more perfect hatred than those that deluded and nattered them into so vile an act, and they bitterly revenge themselves when they find an opportunity. For Crateas killed Archelaus, who had rid him in his youth ; and Pytholaus slew Alexander of Pherae. Periander tyrant of the Ambraciotes asked his minion, whether he were not yet with child ; which the lad took so heinously that he stabbed him.
- Plutarch's Lives (De Amores) By Plutarch, William Watson Goodwin p.304
- See Voluntary servitude and the erotics of friendship: from classical antiquity ... By Marc D. Schachter p159
Oh Who Is That Young Sinner
Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists?
And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists?
And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air?
Oh they're taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.
'Tis a shame to human nature, such a head of hair as his;
In the good old time 'twas hanging for the colour that it is;
Though hanging isn't bad enough and flaying would be fair
For the nameless and abominable colour of his hair.
Oh a deal of pains he's taken and a pretty price he's paid
To hide his poll or dye it of a mentionable shade;
But they've pulled the beggar's hat off for the world to see and stare,
And they're haling him to justice for the colour of his hair.
Now 'tis oakum for his fingers and the treadmill for his feet
And the quarry-gang on Portland in the cold and in the heat,
And between his spells of labour in the time he has to spare
He can curse the God that made him for the colour of his hair.
- A.E. Housman
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