Terence, this is stupid stuff: you eat your victuals fast enough; there can't be much amiss, 'tis clear, to see the rate you drink your beer. but oh, good lord, the verse you make, it gives a chap the belly-ache. the cow, the old cow, she is dead; it sleeps well the horned head: we poor lads, 'tis our turn now to hear such tunes as killed the cow. pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme your friends to death before their time. moping, melancholy mad: come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.
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Terence, This Is Stupid Stuff: You Eat
Terence, this is stupid stuff: you eat your victuals fast enough; there can't be much amiss, 'tis clear, to see the rate you drink your beer. but oh, good lord, the verse you make, it gives a chap the belly-ache. the cow, the old cow, she is dead; it sleeps well the horned head: we poor lads, 'tis our turn now to hear such tunes as killed the cow. pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme your friends to death before their time. moping, melancholy mad: come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.
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