THOU moon, like a white Christus hanging At the sky`s cross-roads, I`ll court thee not, Though travellers bend up, and seek thy grace. Let them go truckle with their gifts and singing, I`ll ask no favours of thy cocker face. Moonlight`s a viand sucked by the world`s lovers, Captains and peasants, all that are young and have luck. They take the moon. Nobody asked them to. Let the musicians lout to thee for favours; Personally, I have other things to do.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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