You condemn in the present and after,
To darkness of utter despair:
But a sin, if no rapture redeem it,
But a passion that's pale and played out,
Or in surgical hands--you esteem it
Worth scribbling about!

What is sauce for the goose, for the gander
Is sauce, ye inconsequent fair!
It is better to laugh than to maunder,
And better is mirth than despair;
And though Life's not all beer and all skittles,
Yet the Sun, on occasion, can shine,
And, mon Dieu! he's a fool who belittles
This cosmos of Thine!

There are cakes, there is ale--ay, and ginger
Shall be hot in the mouth, as of old:
And a villain, with cloak and with whinger,
And a hero, in armour of gold,
And a maid with a face like a lily,
With a heart that is stainless and gay,
Make a tale worth a world of the silly
Sad trash of to-day!



RHYME OF RHYMES