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Alexander Brome (Александр Бром)



LEt the bowl pass free
From him to thee
As it first came to me,
'Tis pity that we should confine it,
Having all either credit or coyn yet,
Let it e'n take its course,
There's no stopping its force,
He that shuffles must inter-line it.


Lay aside your cares,
Of Shops and Wares,
And irrational fears;
Let each breast be as thoughtless as his'n is,
That from his bride newly ris'n is;
We'l banish each soul,
That comes here to condole,
Or is troubled with love or business.


The King we'l not name,
Nor a Lady t' enflame
With desire to the game,
And into a dumpishness drive all,
Or make us run mad, and go wive all;
We'l have this whole night
Set a part for delight,
And our mirth shall have no corrival.


Then see that the Glass
Through its circuit do pass,
Till it come where it was;
And every nose has been within it,
Till he end it that first did begin it;
As Copernicus found,
That the Earsh did turn round,
We will prove so does every thing in it.

Alexander Brome's other poems:
  1. The Cavalier
  2. The Hard Heart
  3. The Reformation
  4. The Libertine
  5. The Prodigal

Poems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):

  • Menella Smedley (Менелла Смедли) Copernicus ("The mountain church of Frauenburg")

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