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Super Trooper

Super Trouper beams are gonna blind me
But I won't feel blue
Like I always do
'Cause somewhere in the crowd there's you
I was sick and tired of everything
When I called you last night from Glasgow
All I do is eat and sleep and sing
Wishing every show was the last show
(Wishing every show was the last show)
So imagine I was glad to hear you're coming
(Glad to hear you're coming)
Suddenly I feel all right
(And suddenly it's gonna be)
And it's gonna be so different
When I'm on the stage tonight
Tonight the
Super Trouper lights are gonna find me
Shining like the sun
(Sup-p-per Troup-p-per)
Smiling, having fun

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song performed by ABBA
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Merryman and His Maid

[HE] I have a song to sing, O!
[SHE] Sing me your song, O!
[HE] It is sung to the moon
By a love-lorn loon,
Who fled from the mocking throng, O!
It's the song of a merryman, moping mum,
Whose soul was sad, whose glance was glum,
Who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye.
Heighdy! heighdy!
Misery me - lackadaydee!
He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb,
As he sighed for the love of a ladye!

[SHE] I have a song to sing, O!
[HE] Sing me your song, O!
[SHE] It is sung with the ring
Of the song maids sing
Who love with a love life-long, O!
It's the song of a merrymaid, peerly proud,

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poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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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;

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poem by La Fontaine
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Inscription In A Garden

IF any flower that here is grown
Or any herb may ease your pain,
Take and account it as your own,
But recompense the like again;
For some and some is honest play,
And so my wife taught me to say.

If here to walk you take delight,
Why, come and welcome, when you will;
If I bid you sup here this night,
Bid me another time, and still
Think some and some is honest play,
For so my wife taught me to say.

Thus if you sup or dine with me,
If you walk here or sit at ease,
If you desire the thing you see,
And have the same your mind to please,
Think some and some is honest play,
And so my wife taught me to say.

poem by George Gascoigne
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The Pool Of Poetry

From the Pool of Poetry let the thirsty spirit sup -
From truth and fantasy... Come, drink, and drain the cup!
According to your taste, from folly to sublime,
Each verse can be embraced or spurned twixt prose and rhyme!
Just bring your present views and all that you hold dear -
It’s up to you to choose from what you see and hear...
Perhaps you'll find a friend! A phrase you'd like to quote,
A tale you'd hate to end... Or some short anecdote!
Whatever you may find, twixt ecstasy and strife,
It could help change your mind and even change your life!
Each generation shares Man’s greatest legacy -
Wise children learn their prayers from the Pool of Poetry!
Discerning souls confess the debt they'll always owe
To bards that chose to bless each one that strives to grow!
From the Pool of Poetry comes wisdom that refines!
Yet insight is the key! Read thoughts between the lines!
For doctrines come and go and ‘facts’ of science, too...
Love’s Truth resists the flow and this God shares with you!
From the Pool of Poetry let the thirsty spirit sup!
From truth and fantasy... Drink up! Drink up! Drink up!

poem by Denis Martindale
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On The Lam

‘I'm going away today, ' he said,
‘I'm going away for good! '
We looked at his suitcase, neatly packed,
‘We don't really think you should! '

‘It doesn't matter a fig to me
Whatever you want me to,
I said that I'm going away, I did,
And that's what I'm going to do.'

The wife looked beat, admitted defeat,
And stalked back into the house,
While I sat down on the garden wall
And stomped on the odd wood louse.

‘So where do you think you'll spend the night
When it comes to the end of the day,
When the Moon comes up and the lights go out
And the Wolves begin to bay? '

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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Old Men Complaining

First Old Man
He threw his crutched stick down: there came
Into his face the anger flame,
And he spoke viciously of one
Who thwarted him—his son’s son.
He turned his head away.—“I hate
Absurdity of language, prate
From growing fellows. We’d not stay
About the house the whole of a day
When we were young,
Keeping no job and giving tongue!
“Not us in troth! We would not come
For bit or sup, but stay from home
If we gave answers, or we’d creep
Back to the house, and in we’d peep
Just like a corncrake.
“My grandson and his comrades take
A piece of coal from you, from me
A log, or sod of turf, maybe;
And in some empty place they’ll light

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poem by Padraic Colum
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The Devil Made Me Do It!

My father said, advising me
On a winter's afternoon,
'If you ever sup with the devil, son,
Then sup with a long spoon.'

'He'll always try to cozen you,
To draw you into his schemes,
Whenever you're down and out, my son
He'll fill your head with dreams.'

'He'll make you feel grandiloquent,
With a power so sublime,
You'll think you're all but immortal, son
As you stray from the bottom line.'

'And slowly, slowly, he will fix
His hooks into your soul,
You'll never notice the hooks, my son
As you head toward your goal.'

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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Tommy's Dead

YOU may give over plough, boys,
You may take the gear to the stead,
All the sweat o' your brow, boys,
Will never get beer and bread.
The seed's waste, I know, boys,
There's not a blade will grow, boys,
'Tis cropped out, I trow, boys,
And Tommy's dead.

Send the colt to fair, boys,
He's going blind, as I said,
My old eyes can't bear, boys,
To see him in the shed;
The cow's dry and spare, boys,
She's neither here nor there, boys,
I doubt she's badly bread;
Stop the mill to-morn, boys,
There'll be no more corn, boys,
Neither white nor red;
There's no sign of grass, boys,

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poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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The 5th Satire Of Book I. Of Horace : A Humorous Description Of The Author's Journey From Rome To Brundusium

'Twas a long journey lay before us,
When I and honest Heliodorus,
Who far in point of rhetoric
Surpasses every living Greek,
Each leaving our respective home
Together sallied forth from Rome.
First at Aricia we alight,
And there refresh and pass the night,
Our entertainment rather coarse
Than sumptuous, but I've met with worse.
Thence o'er the causeway soft and fair
To Apii Forum we repair.
But as this road is well supplied
(Temptation strong!) on either side
With inns commodious, snug, and warm,
We split the journey, and perform
In two days' time what's often done
By brisker travellers in one.
Here rather choosing not to sup
Than with bad water mix my cup,

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poem by William Cowper
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