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The Bishop Orders His Tomb at Ssaint Praxed's Church, Rome

Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity!
Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back?
Nephews--sons mine . . . ah God, I know not! Well--
She, men would have to be your mother once,
Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was!
What's done is done, and she is dead beside,
Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since,
And as she died so must we die ourselves,
And thence ye may perceive the world's a dream.
Life, how and what is it? As here I lie
In this state-chamber, dying by degrees,
Hours and long hours in the dead night, I ask
Do I live, am I dead?' Peace, peace seems all.
Saint Praxed's ever was the church for peace;
And so, about this tomb of mine. I fought
With tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know:
--Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care;
Shrewd was that snatch from out the corner South
He graced his carrion with, God curse the same!
Yet still my niche is not so cramped but thence

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poem by Robert Browning
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Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church, Rome, The

Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity!
Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back?
Nephews--sons mine . . . ah God, I know not! Well--
She, men would have to be your mother once,
Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was!
What's done is done, and she is dead beside,
Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since,
And as she died so must we die ourselves,
And thence ye may perceive the world's a dream.
Life, how and what is it? As here I lie
In this state-chamber, dying by degrees,
Hours and long hours in the dead night, I ask
Do I live, am I dead?" Peace, peace seems all.
Saint Praxed's ever was the church for peace;
And so, about this tomb of mine. I fought
With tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know:
--Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care;
Shrewd was that snatch from out the corner South
He graced his carrion with, God curse the same!
Yet still my niche is not so cramped but thence

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poem by Robert Browning
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The Bishop Orders his Tomb at Saint Praxed's Church

Rome, 15—

Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity!
Draw round my bed: is Anselm keeping back?
Nephews—sons mine...ah God, I know not! Well—
She, men would have to be your mother once,
Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was!
What's done is done, and she is dead beside,
Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since,
And as she died and so must we die ourselves,
And thence ye may perceive the world's a dream.
Life, how and what is it? As here I lie
In this state-chamber, dying by degrees,
Hours and long hours in the dead night, I ask
"Do I live, am I dead?" Peace, peace seems all.
Saint Praxed's ever was the church for peace;
And so, about this tomb of mine. I fought
With tooth and nail to save my niche, ye know:
—Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my care;
Shrews was that snatch from out the corner South

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poem by Robert Browning from Dramatic Romances and Lyrics (1845)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Any Soldier To His Son

What did I do, sonny, in the Great World War?
Well, I learned to peel potatoes and to scrub the barrack floor.
I learned to push a barrow and I learned to swing a pick,
I learned to turn my toes out, and to make my eyeballs click.
I learned the road to Folkestone, and I watched the English shore,
Go down behind the skyline, as I thought, for evermore.
And the Blighty boats went by us and the harbour hove in sight,
And they landed us and sorted us and marched us "by the right".
"Quick march!" across the cobbles, by the kids who rang along
Singing "Appoo?" "Spearmant" "Shokolah?" through dingy old Boulogne;
By the widows and the nurses and the niggers and Chinese,
And the gangs of smiling Fritzes, as saucy as you please.

I learned to ride as soldiers ride from Etaps to the Line,
For days and nights in cattle trucks, packed in like droves of swine.
I learned to curl and kip it on a foot of muddy floor,
And to envy cows and horses that have beds of beaucoup straw.
I learned to wash in shell holes and to shave myself in tea,
While the fragments of a mirror did a balance on my knee.
I learned to dodge the whizz-bangs and the flying lumps of lead,

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poem by Anonymous English
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Margaret's Bridal Eve

I

The old grey mother she thrummed on her knee:
There is a rose that's ready;
And which of the handsome young men shall it be?
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

My daughter, come hither, come hither to me:
There is a rose that's ready;
Come, point me your finger on him that you see:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O mother, my mother, it never can be:
There is a rose that's ready;
For I shall bring shame on the man marries me:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

Now let your tongue be deep as the sea:
There is a rose that's ready;
And the man'll jump for you, right briskly will he:

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poem by George Meredith
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Contact

Ive got a lump in my throat about the note you wrote
Id come on over but I havent got a raincoat
Have we got contact
You and me?
Have we got touchdown
Cant we be?
Ive got contacts in my book and in my eyes
My good connection on the telephone never lies
Have we got contact
You and me?
Have we got touchdown
Cant we be?
Ive got a list of the people I have known
Im never alone on the end of a phone
Have we got contact
You and me?
Have we got touchdown
Cant we be?
Ive got a lump in my throat about the note you wrote
Id come on over but I havent got a raincoat

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song performed by Police
Added by Lucian Velea
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Medium

Medium, medium.
Waking up I smell the scent of coffee on the brew,
And I think about the amount of the sweet,
Id like to have in my cup today.
One for the two lump, three lump, four.
No half of one, no less no more.
Just give me a chance, let me make it mine.
Id like a medium blend of that piece of pie.
Not too bitter, not too sweet... medium.
Just enough to ? ? ? ... medium.
Not too bitter, not too sweet... medium.
Just enough to ? ? ? ... medium.
Dinner time just rolls around,
And I think I crave a steak but,
Im not too partial to the meat,
When its cooked too long and Im made to wait.
Not too much of the parsony,
And just enough of the spice.
I think Id enjoy a medium-rare dish with a side of fries.
Not too tender, not too tough... medium.

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song performed by Incubus
Added by Lucian Velea
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My Humps

(trumpets)
*sighs*
What you gon do with all that junk, all that junk inside your trunk?
Imma get-get-get-get you drunk, get you love drunk off my hump.
My hump my hump, my hump my hump my hump.
My hump my hump my hump. My lovely little lumps.
Check it out
I drive these brothers crazy; I do it on the day
Look, they treat me really nicely; they buy me all these ices:
Dolce and Gabbana, Vinny and Nedonna.
Caring, they be sharing all their money, got me wearing fly
Brother I aint asking, they say they love my ass and
Seven jeans to religion, I say no but they keep giving
So I keep on taking, and no I aint taking,
We can keep on dating, I keep on demonstrating my love.
My love my love my love. You love my lady lumps.
My hump my hump my hump. My humps, they got you
Shes got me spending(ooh)
Spending all your money on me, and spending time on me [x2]
On, on me, on me.

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song performed by Black Eyed Peas
Added by Lucian Velea
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Jenny

Lazy laughing languid Jenny,
Fond of a kiss and fond of a guinea,
Whose head upon my knee to-night
Rests for a while, as if grown light
With all our dances and the sound
To which the wild tunes spun you round:
Fair Jenny mine, the thoughtless queen
Of kisses which the blush between
Could hardly make much daintier;
Whose eyes are as blue skies, whose hair
Is countless gold incomparable:
Fresh flower, scarce touched with signs that tell
Of Love's exuberant hotbed:—Nay,
Poor flower left torn since yesterday
Until to-morrow leave you bare;
Poor handful of bright spring-water
Flung in the whirlpool's shrieking face;
Poor shameful Jenny, full of grace
Thus with your head upon my knee;—
Whose person or whose purse may be

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poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Brus Book XV

The Scots win a great battle at Connor]

Quhen thai within has sene sua slayn
Thar men and chassyt hame agayn
Thai war all wa, and in gret hy
'Till armys!' hely gan thai cry.
5 Than armyt thaim all that thai war
And for the bataill maid thaim yar
Thai ischyt out all wele arayit
Into the bataill baner displayit
Bowne on thar best wis till assaile
10 Thar fayis into fell bataill.
And quhen Schyr Philip the Mowbra
Saw thaim ische in sa gud aray
Till Schyr Edward the Bruys went he
And said, 'Schyr, it is gud that we
15 Schap for sum slycht that may availe
To help us into this bataill.
Our men ar quhoyne, bot thai haf will
To do mar than thai may fulfill,

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poem by John Barbour
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