OBTUSE ANGLE: |
[enters, wiping his face
and looking at the corner of the ceiling, sings a terribly boring
song; heads fall asleep on the words "sutton," "own," "servant."
He gets no further than the third verse]
To be, or not to be
Of great capacity,
Like Sir Isaac Newton,
Or Locke, or Doctor South,
Or Sherlock upon death?
I'd rather be Sutton.
|
For he did build a house
For aged men & youth,
With walls of brick
& stone.
He furnish'd it within
With whatever he could win,
And all his own.
He drew out of the Stocks
His money in a box,
And sent his servant
To Green the Bricklayer
And to the Carpenter:
He was so fervent. |
COLUMN: |
[only one awake, attacks ANGLE to shut him up] Wonderful, wonderful,
do it again, again, again! |
COLUMN: |
Oh yes, yes, why of course. This city & this country
has brought forth many mayors,
To sit in state & give forth laws out of their old oak chairs,
With face as brown as any nut with drinking of strong ale;
Good English hospitality, O then it did not fail!
With scarlet gowns & broad gold lace would make a yeoman
sweat,
With stockings roll'd above their knees & shoes as black as
jet,
With eating beef & drinking beer, O they were stout and hale!
Good English hospitality, O then it did not fail! |