Citatepedia^®.com

The Informant!

Cast: Matt Damon, Lucas McHugh Carroll, Eddie Jemison, Rusty Schwimmer, Craig Ricci Shaynak

trailer for The Informant!, directed by Steven Soderbergh, screenplay, inspired by Kurt Eichenwald (2009)
Added by anonym
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

A Sicilian Idyll

(First Scene) Damon
I thank thee, no;
Already have I drunk a bowl of wine . . .
Nay, nay, why wouldst thou rise?
There rolls thy ball of worsted! Sit thee down;
Come, sit thee down, Cydilla,
And let me fetch thy ball, rewind the wool,
And tell thee all that happened yesterday.

Cydilla
Thanks, Damon; now, by Zeus, thou art so brisk,
It shames me that to stoop should try my bones.

Damon
We both are old,
And if we may have peaceful days are blessed;
Few hours of bouyancy will come to break
The sure withdrawal from us of life's flood.

Cydilla
True, true, youth looks a great way off! To think
It wonce was age did lie quite out of sight!

Damon
Not many days have been so beautiful
As yesterday, Cydilla; yet one was;
And I with thee broke tranced on its fine spell;
Thou dost remember? Yes? but not with tears,
Ah, not with tears, Cydilla, pray, oh, pray!

Cydilla
Pardon me, Damon,
'Tis many years since thou hast touched thereon;
And something stirs about thee -
Such air of eagerness as was thine when
I was more foolish than in my life, I hope
To ever have been at another time.

Damon
Pooh! foolish? - thou wast then so very wise
That, often having seen thee foolish since,
Wonder has made me faint that thou shouldst err.

Cydilla
Nay, then I erred, dear Damon; and remorse
Was not so slow to find me as thou deemst.

Damon
There, mop those dear wet eyes, or thou'lt ne'er hear
What it was filled my heart yesterday.

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Sturge Moore
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Progress of Taste, or the Fate of Delicacy

Part first.

Perhaps some cloud eclipsed the day,
When thus I tuned my pensive lay:
The ship is launch'd-we catch the gale-
On life's extended ocean sail:
For happiness our course we bend,
Our ardent cry, our general end!
Yet, ah! the scenes which tempt our care
Are, like the forms dispersed in air,
Still dancing near disorder'd eyes,
And weakest his who best descries!'
Yet let me not my birthright barter,
(For wishing is the poet's charter;
All bards have leave to wish what's wanted,
Though few e'er found their wishes granted;
Extensive field! where poets pride them
In singing all that is denied them).
For humble ease, ye Powers! I pray;
That plain warm suit for every day,
And pleasure and brocade, bestow,
To flaunt it-once a month, or so.
The first for constant wear we want;
The first, ye Powers! for ever grant;
But constant wear the last bespatters,
And turns the tissue into tatters.
Where'er my vagrant course I bend,
Let me secure one faithful friend.
Let me, in public scenes, request
A friend of wit and taste, well drest;
And, if I must not hope such favour,
A friend of wit and taste, however.
Alas! that Wisdom ever shuns
To congregate her scatter'd Sons,
Whose nervous forces, well combined,
Would win the field, and sway mankind.
The fool will squeeze, from morn to night,
To fix his follies full in sight;
The note he strikes, the plume he shows,
Attract whole flights of fops and beaus,
And kindred fools, who ne'er had known him,
Flock at the sight, caress and own him;
But ill-starr'd Sense, not gay nor loud,
Steals soft on tiptoe through the crowd;
Conveys his meagre form between,
And slides, like pervious air, unseen;
Contracts his known tenuity,
As though 'twere even a crime to be;
Nor even permits his eyes to stray,
And win acquaintance in their way.

[...] Read more

poem by William Shenstone
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Magic Cup

THE worst of ills, with jealousy compared,
Are trifling torments ev'ry where declared.

IMAGINE, to yourself a silly fool,
To dark suspicion grown an easy tool;
No soft repose he finds, by night or day;
But rings his ear, he's wretched ev'ry way!
Continually he dreams his forehead sprouts;
The truth of reveries he never doubts.
But this I would not fully guaranty,
For he who dreams, 'tis said, asleep should be;
And those who've caught, from time to time, a peep,
Pretend to say--the jealous never sleep.

A MAN who has suspicions soon will rouse;
But buz a fly around his precious spouse,
At once he fancies cuckoldom is brought,
And nothing can eradicate the thought;
In spite of reason he must have a place,
And numbered be, among the horned race;
A cuckold to himself he freely owns,
Though otherwise perhaps in flesh and bones.

GOOD folks, of cuckoldom, pray what's the harm,
To give, from time to time, such dire alarm?
What injury 's received, and what 's the wrong,
At which so many sneer and loll their tongue?
While unacquainted with the fact, 'tis naught;
If known:--e'en then 'tis scarcely worth a thought.
You think, however, 'tis a serious grief;
Then try to doubt it, which may bring relief,
And don't resemble him who took a sup,
From out the celebrated magic cup.
Be warned by others' ills; the tale I'll tell;
Perhaps your irksomeness it may dispel.

BUT first, by reason let me prove, I pray,
That evil such as this, and which you say,
Oft weighs you down with soul-corroding care;
Is only in the mind:--mere spright of air:
Your hat upon your head for instance place,
Less gently rather than's your usual case;
Pray, don't it presently at ease remain?
And from it do you aught amiss retain?
Not e'en a spot; there's nothing half so clear;
The features, too, they as before appear?
No difference assuredly you see?
Then how can cuckoldom an evil be?
Such my conclusion, spite of fools or brutes,
With whose ideas reason never suits.

[...] Read more

poem by La Fontaine
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

My Babys In Love With Eddie Vedder

Oh, my baby, my baby she dont want me no more
Ever since she saw his poster in that record store
She says the way he grinds his molars is really sexy
She thinks hes so darn dysfunctional and generation xy
She likes his brooding angst and his wild-eyed stare
Yeah, hes her very favorite slacker multi-millionaire
Well, my babys in love with eddie vedder
Shes all crazy bout that eddie vedder
Once she was mine, but now I better just forget her
cause my babys in love with eddie vedder
Now, every time I see him, well, he looks so grim
I guess it really must suck to be a rock star like him
What a pain in the butt to have so much success
Spending all his time moping and avoiding the press
But my girl cant get enough of his sullen demeanor
Like hes some big tortured genious and Im some kinda wiener
Well, my babys in love with eddie vedder
Shes got a thing for that eddie vedder
Tell me, what can he do that I cant do better
Now my babys in love with
I said I said I said my babys in love with eddie vedder
Head over heels for that eddie vedder
I cant believe it, now shes knitting him a sweater
cause my babys in love with eddie vedder
I knew we were headin for disaster
When she caught me hangin out at the ticketmaster
Now shes got an unrequited adoratioon
For the frustrated, agitated, designated alienated
Spokesman for the disaffected grunge generation
Well, I dont wear doc martens and I dont wear flannel
And I dont boycott the music video channel
And I just cant compete with all that money and fame
But I know two can play at this game
Yeah, well, lets just see how jealous shess get
When I start stalking alanis morissette
Well, mny babys in love with eddie vedder
Shes all crazy bout that eddie vedder
Once she was mine but now I better just forget her
cause my babys in love with
I said I said I said my babys in love with eddie vedder
Whyd she have to fall for that eddie vedder
If she wants to leave me, I guess I better let her
cause my babys in love with eddie vedder

song performed by Weird Al Yankovic
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

On The Death Of Damon. (Translated From Milton)

Ye Nymphs of Himera (for ye have shed
Erewhile for Daphnis and for Hylas dead,
And over Bion's long-lamented bier,
The fruitless meed of many a sacred tear)
Now, through the villas laved by Thames rehearse
The woes of Thyrsis in Sicilian verse,
What sighs he heav'd, and how with groans profound
He made the woods and hollow rocks resound
Young Damon dead; nor even ceased to pour
His lonely sorrows at the midnight hour.
The green wheat twice had nodded in the ear,
And golden harvest twice enrich'd the year,
Since Damon's lips had gasp'd for vital air
The last, last time, nor Thyrsis yet was there;
For he, enamour'd of the Muse, remain'd
In Tuscan Fiorenza long detain'd,
But, stored at length with all he wish'd to learn,
For his flock's sake now hasted to return,
And when the shepherd had resumed his seat
At the elm's root within his old retreat,
Then 'twas his lot, then, all his loss to know,
And, from his burthen'd heart, he vented thus his woe.
Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due
To other cares than those of feeding you.
Alas! what Deities shall I suppose
In heav'n or earth concern'd for human woes,
Since, Oh my Damon! their severe decree
So soon condemns me to regret of Thee!
Depart'st thou thus, thy virtues unrepaid
With fame and honour, like a vulgar shade?
Let him forbid it, whose bright rod controls,
And sep'rates sordid from illustrious souls,
Drive far the rabble, and to Thee assign
A happier lot with spirits worthy thine!
Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due
To other cares than those of feeding you.
Whate'er befall, unless by cruel chance
The wolf first give me a forbidding glance,
Thou shalt not moulder undeplor'd, but long
Thy praise shall dwell on ev'ry shepherd's tongue;
To Daphnis first they shall delight to pay,
And, after Him, to thee the votive lay,
While Pales shall the flocks and pastures love,
Or Faunus to frequent the field or grove,
At least if antient piety and truth
With all the learned labours of thy youth
May serve thee aught, or to have left behind
A sorrowing friend, and of the tuneful kind.
Go, seek your home, my lambs, my thoughts are due
To other cares than those of feeding you.

[...] Read more

poem by William Cowper
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Carrolling - Parody Lewis CARROLL – The Mad Gardener’s Song

He thought he saw an Internet
exchanging peer to peer,
he looked again and hedged his bet, -
by middle of next year
new routing tables tuned as yet
unknown may well appear –
on track to trace attack and get
convictions based on fear.

He dreamt that spam would disappear,
all trash deleted fast.
He dreamt that Windows would be clear
of viral bugs’ wormcast.
He woke to find world insincere
where independence past
was sacrificed throughout the year
to biometrics ghast.

He thought he saw a friend’s hello
with an attachment piece,
he opened to discover, though,
a trojan horse release –
He looked again as data flow
declined, - mind not at peace -
and whispered with voice timbre low:
‘I’ll send for the Police! ”

He thought he saw a heirophant
predicting happy life.
He looked again, with rage and rant
discovered from ex-wife
an email angry claiming scant
support, which threatened strife:
“At length I see the immanent
attraction of Time’s knife! ”

He dreamt he saw as he awake
the euro reach a peak,
he saw he dreamt that Bush half bake
would leave the dollar weak: -
he woke to find what grave mistake
was made for the next week
the politicians put a stake
in budget – rocked boats leak!

He thought he saw Commission clerk
jump on bandwagon bus,
he looked again, just for a lark,
and found no tinker’s cuss
the former cared for bite was bark -

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Carrolling II-Parody Lewis CARROLL–The Mad Gardener’s Song

Carolling II

He Thought He Saw

He thought he saw new Internet
exchanging peer to peer,
he looked again and found it was
a mirage for each year
sees more control, “what rôle, ” he said,
“for values once held dear?
Some track to trace attack and get
convictions based on fear.'

He dreamt he saw spam disappear,
all consultations free,
he looked again and found it was
a spybot lottery.
“Is net neutrality”, he said,
“from rash risks viral clear? ”

He dreamt that Microsoft would steer
all trash deleted fast,
then woke to find world insincere
where independence past
was sacrificed throughout the year
to biometrics ghast.

He thought he saw a friend’s hello,
with an attachment piece,
he looked again and found it was
the porno scanning police.
“Politically correct”, he said,
“can’t guarantee release.”

He opened it, discovered though,
a trojan horse to fleece –
he looked again as data flow
declined, - mind not at peace -
and whispered with voice hoarse and low:
'when will our worries cease? ”

He thought he saw a hierophant,
who’d deal successful life,
he looked again and found it was
subpoena from ex-wife
demanding child support, he said,
“cards are cut by Time’s knife.”

He looked once more with rage and rant
and swore like a fishwife

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

She Thought She Saw-Parody Lewis CARROLL–The Mad Gardener’s Song

She Thought She Saw

She thought she saw quite equal pay
afforded equal work,
she looked again and found it was
a most unusual quirk.
“That men should keep their cake, ” she said,
“and eat it too, must irk.”

She thought she saw that light of day
would filter through each jerk,
she looked again and found it was
belief most held beserk.
“That men should nappies change, ” she said,
“would wipe off every smirk! ”

She thought she saw fair interplay
where men would never shirk,
she looked again and found it was
a most miasmic murk
where rights were flouted, - “Hey! ” she said,
“men stand, wait, feeble lurk! ”

(15 April 2007 Parody Lewis CARROLL Some Hallucinations
The Mad Gardener's Dream Sylvie and Bruno Ch.5 See below Carolling and Carolling II)

Carolling

He thought he saw an Internet
exchanging peer to peer,
he looked again and hedged his bet, -
by middle of next year
new routing tables tuned as yet
unknown may well appear –
on track to trace attack and get
convictions based on fear.

He dreamt that spam would disappear,
all trash deleted fast.
He dreamt that Windows would be clear
of viral bugs’ wormcast.
He woke to find world insincere
where independence past
was sacrificed throughout the year
to biometrics ghast.

He thought he saw a friend’s hello
with an attachment piece,

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Rusty Angels

They say you came from heaven but I know thats not the truth,
Cause I dont think an angel could look anything like you,
Your eyes are made from sapphires and your heart is made from stone,
You gotta be the closest thing to hate Ive ever known,
And if I didnt know better Id say you had come alone to the party.
Oh yeah.
The light is always shining, but you swear that its gone black,
The tide is always turning, but youre never looking back,
If I didnt know better Id say times were pretty bad,
Because rusty angels they cant fly,
Rusty angels gonna die, yeah,
Rusty angels they cant fly,
Rusty angels gonna die, gonna die.
The gifts you bring are fire, and your dreams they turned to dust,
Your flying days are over, and your wings have turned to rust.
If I didnt know better, Id say all you had is lost,
Because rusty angels they cant fly,
Rusty angels gonna die, yeah,
Rusty angels they cant fly,
Rusty angels gonna die, gonna die.
If you swallow just a little pride, you might find a little love inside,
Open up and let somebody in, cause if you need somebody,
You know its not a sin.
Rusty angels they cant fly, rusty angels gonna die, yeah,
Rusty angels they cant fly, no, rusty angels gonna die,
Gonna die, yeah, you cant fly, oh no,
Gonna die, oh yeah, you cant fly, oh no.

song performed by Black Sabbath
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Conversation. A Tale

It always has been a thought discreet
To know the company you meet;
And sure there may be secret danger
In talking much before a stranger.
Agreed: what then? Then drink your ale;
I'll pledge you, and repeat my tale.

No matter where the scene is fix'd,
The persons were but oddly mix'd;
When sober Damon thus began,
(And Damon is a clever man!)
I now grow old, but still from youth
Have held for modesty and truth;
The men who by these sea-marks steer
In life's great voyage never err:

Upon this point I dare defy
The world; I pause for a reply.

Sir, either is a good assistant,
Said one, who sat a little distant;
Truth decks our speeches and our books,
And modesty adorns our looks:
But farther progress we must take;
Not only born to look and speak,
The man must act. The Stagirite
Says thus, and says extremely right.
Strict justice is the sovereign guide
That o'er our actions should preside;
This queen of virtues is confess'd
To regulate and bind the rest.
Thrice happy if you can but find
Her equal balance poise your mind;
All different graces soon will enter,
Like lines concurrent to their centre.

'Twas thus, in short, these two went on,
With yea and nay, and
pro
and
con
.
Through many points divinely dark,
And Waterland assaulting Clarke,
Till, in theology half lost,
Damon took up the Evening Post,
Confounded Spain, composed the north,
And deep in politics held forth.
Methinks we're in the like condition
As at the Treaty of Partition:

[...] Read more

poem by Matthew Prior
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Carroll County Accident

Carroll countys pointed out as kind of square
The biggest thing that happens is the county fair
And I guess thats why it seemed like such a big event
What we all call the carroll county accident
The wreck was on the highway just inside the line
Walter browning lost his life and for a time
It seemed that mary ellen jones would surely die
But she lived long enough for her to testify
Now walter browning was a happy married man
And he wore a golden wedding ring upon his hand
But it was gone nobody knew just where it went
Hed lost it in the carroll county accident
Mary ellen testified he flagged her down
Said he was sick and could she drive him into town
And no one even doubted what she said was true
Cause she was well respected in the county too
Now I went down to see the wreck like all the rest
The bloody seats, the broken glass, the tangled mess
But I found something no one else had even seen
Behind the dash in marys crumpled up machine
A little matchbox circled by a rubberband
And inside the ring from walter brownings hand
And it took a while to figure out just what it meant
The truth about the carroll county accident
By dark of night I dropped the ring into a well
And I took a sacred oath that I would never tell
The secret of the carroll county accident
Cause the county ordered dad a marble monument
I lost him in the carroll county accident

song performed by Dolly Parton
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Writer Damon Runyon

Shirley Temple launched her career,
with Littlest Miss Marker,
making her Best Star of the Year.
Damon Runyon wrote this story,
It was a drama, not very gory.
Damon wrote “Guys and Dolls”
which is a Broadway musical,
Manhattan’s Hell’s Kitchen named after him
named Runyon’s Way to this day.
He named his mobster friend Otto, Regret,
A horse player who used to bet.
now Regret is in Shirley Temple’s hit.
Later, Otto ended up getting killed,
Damon did damage control,
Damon wrote “Otto would have been effective as
a bodyguard as a child aged two year old.
Damon died at 66, he had throat
cancer the year was 1946.
History’s first telethon of the nation,
washosted Milton Berle for
Damon Runyon Cancer Research Foundation.
Damon sounds like an interesting and a sensational writer,
I will read more of his writings to become brighter.

Written By Suzae Chevalier on September 24,2011
www.christinasunrise.com www.puppetpoems.com

poem by Christina Sunrise
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Writer Damon Runyon

Shirley Temple launched her career,
with Littlest Miss Marker,
making her Best Star of the Year.
Damon Runyon wrote this story,
It was a drama, not very gory.
Damon wrote 'Guys and Dolls'
which is a Broadway musical,
Manhattan's Hell's Kitchen named after him
named Runyon's Way to this day.
He named his mobster friend Otto, Regret,
A horse player who used to bet.
now Regret is in Shirley Temple's hit.
Later, Otto ended up getting killed,
Damon did damage control,
Damon wrote 'Otto would have been effective as
a bodyguard as a child aged two year old.
Damon died at 66, he had throat
cancer the year was 1946.
History's first telethon of the nation,
washosted Milton Berle for
Damon Runyon Cancer Research Foundation.
Damon sounds like an interesting and a sensational writer,
I will read more of his writings to become brighter.

Written By Suzae Chevalier on September 24,2011
www.suzae.com www.puppetpoems.com
www.suzaria.com

poem by Suzae Chevalier
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Old Town Types No.2 - Red Matt

He gleaned all the gossip and he gathered all the news,
Mad Matt, the carrier, delivering the grub;
He knew the trooper's tattle and he knew the parson's views,
The gossip at the station-yard, the gossip at the pub.
That high-pitched voice of his, the loudest voice in town,
That shrewd blue eye of his, with humor all a-gleam -
Old Red Matt, with his cabbage-tree hat,
His trolley, and his two-horse team.

Driving down the main street a-clatter with his load,
The great red beard of him blowing out behind:
'Hear about that accident's mornin' up the road?
Hear about the gold rush at Joe Scott's find?
Warmish sort o' day we got; thirsty weather this.
Got a bag o' spuds for you - Dang! Fergot the cream!'
Says old Red Matt with his cabbage-tree hat,
And his trolley, and his two-horse team.

Mad Matt, the carrier, standing at the bar:
'Well here's a go, boys. Got to get along
Seven pints I've had today and still to travel far.
Drink fast and drive fast, yeh can't go wrong.
Fill 'em up again, boss, ans hove it on the slate.
Half-a-ton aboard today - just tipped the beam,'
Says old red Matt with the cabbage-tree hat,
And his trolley, and his two-horse team.

Sudden were his wild ways, sudden, too, his end.
Jumped to grab a bolting team with kiddie sin the trap;
And they picked up Mad Matt, everybody's friend,
Silent now and broken; and they said, 'Brave chap.
Wild an' all,' they said of him, 'always was a white man.'
And they laid him, with a blessing, where his old mates dream,
Saying, 'So long, Matt, with your cabbage-tree hat,
And your trolley, and your two-horse team.'

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Maybe I Was Damon In A Past Life

Maybe I was Damon Runyon in a past time
he died at age 66 which was the year I began my life.
I also write about someone I call the "Guy"
who maybe is kind of shy.
Damon wrote a play with Dolls & Guys
which was acted out in NYC—very true-not a lie.
I write about a Doll
who is cute and kind of small.
Damon also named his pet _____
almost like mine.
I write about a character with letter
beginning with N—
he was only a sponsor to me—
he wanted to be more than friends—
Just like Damon-
who writes about characters where
he actually supported them
in his writing he actually defends.
Damon also writes about baseball
I don't know baseball at all.
I am more of a poet who story-tells-
I write of the doll character nicknamed Mel.
See baseball is not my cup of tea—
but to Damon he was famous for
being a reporter known around the country.

Written by Suzae Chevalier on March 17,2012

poem by Christina Sunrise
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Damon Runyon In A Past Life?

Maybe I was Damon Runyon in a past time
he died at age 66 which was the year I began my life.
I also write about someone I call the 'Guy'
who maybe is kind of shy.
Damon wrote a play with Dolls & Guys
which was acted out in NYC—very true-not a lie.
I write about a Doll
who is cute and kind of small.
Damon also named his pet _____
almost like mine.
I write about a character with letter
beginning with N—
he was only a sponsor to me—
he wanted to be more than friends—
Just like Damon-
who writes about characters where
he actually supported them
in his writing he actually defends.
Damon also writes about baseball
I don't know baseball at all.
I am more of a poet who story-tells-
I write of the doll character nicknamed Mel.
See baseball is not my cup of tea—
but to Damon he was famous for
being a reporter known around the country.
He even wrote a character named Sarah Brown
I have a character Sarah who lives by a clown.
Little Miss Marker was a play he wrote-
I wrote a poem Little Miss Melodie who sings a note.
His grandfather was from New Jersey just like me
I see a lot of similarities-

Written by Suzae Chevalier on March 17,2012
www.suzae.com

poem by Suzae Chevalier
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Maybe I Was Damon In A Past Life

Maybe I was Damon Runyon in a past time
he died at age 66 which was the year I began my life.
I also write about someone I call the 'Guy'
who maybe is kind of shy.
Damon wrote a play with Dolls & Guys
which was acted out in NYC—very true-not a lie.
I write about a Doll
who is cute and kind of small.
Damon also named his pet _____
almost like mine.
I write about a character with letter
beginning with N—
he was only a sponsor to me—
he wanted to be more than friends—
Just like Damon-
who writes about characters where
he actually supported them
in his writing he actually defends.
Damon also writes about baseball
I don't know baseball at all.
I am more of a poet who story-tells-
I write of the doll character nicknamed Mel.
See baseball is not my cup of tea—
but to Damon he was famous for
being a reporter known around the country.
He even wrote a character named Sarah Brown
I have a character Sarah who lives by a clown.
Little Miss Marker was a play he wrote-
I wrote a poem Little Miss Melodie who sings a note.
His grandfather was from New Jersey just like me
I see a lot of similarities-

Written by Suzae Chevalier on March 17,2012

poem by Suzae Chevalier
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Price of An Equipage

Servum si potes, Ole, non habere,
Et regem potes, Ole, non habere. Mart.

('If thou from Fortune dost no servant crave,
Believe me thou no master need'st to have.')

I ask'd a friend, amidst the throng,
Whose coach it was that trail'd along?
'The gilded coach there - don't ye mind?
That with the footmen stuck behind.'
'O Sir!' says he, 'what! han't you seen it?
'Tis Damon's Coach, and Damon in it.
'Tis odd, methinks, you have forgot
Your friend, your neighbour, and - what not!
Your old acquaintance Damon!' - 'True;
But faith his Equipage is new.'
'Bless me,' said I, 'where can it end?
That madness has possess'd my friend?
Four powder'd slaves, and those the tallest,
Their stomachs, doubtless, not the smallest!
Can Damon's revenue maintain,
In lace and food, so large a train?
I know his land - each inch of ground -
'Tis not a mile to walk it round -
If Damon's whole estate can bear
To keep his lad and one-horse chair,
I own 'tis past my comprehension.'
'Yes, Sir; but Damon has a pension.'
Thus does a false ambition rule us,
Thus pomp delude, and folly fool us;
To keep a race of flickering knaves,
He grows himself the worst of slaves.

poem by William Shenstone
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Eclogue VIII

TO POLLIO, DAMON, ALPHESIBOEUS

Of Damon and Alphesiboeus now,
Those shepherd-singers at whose rival strains
The heifer wondering forgot to graze,
The lynx stood awe-struck, and the flowing streams,
Unwonted loiterers, stayed their course to hear-
How Damon and Alphesiboeus sang
Their pastoral ditties, will I tell the tale.
Thou, whether broad Timavus' rocky banks
Thou now art passing, or dost skirt the shore
Of the Illyrian main,- will ever dawn
That day when I thy deeds may celebrate,
Ever that day when through the whole wide world
I may renown thy verse- that verse alone
Of Sophoclean buskin worthy found?
With thee began, to thee shall end, the strain.
Take thou these songs that owe their birth to thee,
And deign around thy temples to let creep
This ivy-chaplet 'twixt the conquering bays.
Scarce had night's chilly shade forsook the sky
What time to nibbling sheep the dewy grass
Tastes sweetest, when, on his smooth shepherd-staff
Of olive leaning, Damon thus began.

Damon.
'Rise, Lucifer, and, heralding the light,
Bring in the genial day, while I make moan
Fooled by vain passion for a faithless bride,
For Nysa, and with this my dying breath
Call on the gods, though little it bestead-
The gods who heard her vows and heeded not.
'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
Ever hath Maenalus his murmuring groves
And whispering pines, and ever hears the songs
Of love-lorn shepherds, and of Pan, who first
Brooked not the tuneful reed should idle lie.
'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
Nysa to Mopsus given! what may not then
We lovers look for? soon shall we see mate
Griffins with mares, and in the coming age
Shy deer and hounds together come to drink.
'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
Now, Mopsus, cut new torches, for they bring
Your bride along; now, bridegroom, scatter nuts:
Forsaking Oeta mounts the evening star!
'Begin, my flute, with me Maenalian lays.
O worthy of thy mate, while all men else
Thou scornest, and with loathing dost behold
My shepherd's pipe, my goats, my shaggy brow,

[...] Read more

poem by Virgil
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Castle of Lost in Time

The Castle that stood in the farmer's field
Was a grey and battered shrine,
As kids we'd clamber the battlements
And imagine a former time,
When Norman soldiers stood at the heights,
Looked down on the Saxon serfs,
Who paid their tax to the Baron there
When the Normans ruled the earth!

And I'd be Baron Fitzwulf up there,
While Craig would be Robin Hood,
Our histories would be twisted there,
We'd mix and match what we could.
A hundred years was a slip of time
To pray for my own soul's sake,
When I was Thomas A'Becket, and
He was Sir Francis Drake.

The walls were battered and falling down
Had been since the Cromwell siege,
When Charles had fled with his standard, said
No longer to be ‘My Liege! '
The cannon had ripped through the southern wall
Had brought the portcullis down,
And the Roundheads, ferried across the moat
Had slain every man they found!

But ivy clung to the stubborn stone,
And climbed right up to the tower,
Where knights once practised their courtly love
Grew the strangest sort of flower,
Its petals red in the morning sun
With a heart of gold within,
‘They'd pluck it up on their lances there, '
Said Craig, ‘for Ann Boleyn! '

Above our heads was a fireplace
Set high in the ancient wall,
The beams long gone where a floor belonged,
There'd once been a stately hall,
Where Dames had danced in their silken gowns
And knights had cast in their lots,
Had drawn up the Magna Carta there
For the shame of John the fox!

But Farmer Giles was a bitter man
And he'd chase us over the brook,
Whenever he showed in the Castle grounds,
No matter what time it took,
He even managed to fence it off

[...] Read more

poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!