A poor old king, with sorrow for my crown,
Throned upon straw, and mantled with the wind—
For pity, my own tears have made me blind
That I might never see my children’s frown;
And, may be, madness, like a friend, has thrown
A folded fillet over my dark mind,
So that unkindly speech may sound for kind—
Albeit I know not.—I am childish grown—
And have not gold to purchase wit withal—
I that have once maintain’d most royal state—
A very bankrupt now that may not call
My child, my child—all beggar’d save in tears,
Wherewith I daily weep an old man’s fate,
Foolish—and blind—and overcome with years!
Lear
Did you enjoy the the artible “Lear” from Thomas Hood on OZOFE.COM? Do you know anyone who could enjoy it as much as you do? If so, don't hesitate to share this post to them and your other beloved ones.
Leave a Reply