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Poem by John Fletcher


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CAST our cares and caps away:
This is beggars' holiday!
At the crowning of our king,
Thus we ever dance and sing.
In the world look out and see,
Where so happy a prince as he?
Where the nation lives so free,
And as merry as do we?
Here at liberty we are,
And enjoy our ease and rest:
To the field we are not pressed;
Nor are called into the town,
To be troubled with the gown.
Hang all offices, we cry,
And the magistrate too, by!
When the subsidy's increased,
We are not a penny sessed;
Nor will any go to law
With the beggar for a straw.
All which happiness, he brags,
He doth owe unto his rags. 



John Fletcher


John Fletcher's other poems:
  1. Hear, ye Ladies
  2. Hymn to Pan
  3. Away, Delights
  4. Melancholy
  5. Love's Emblems


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