Doubt

Our doubts are traitors,

And make us lose the good we oft might win

By fearing to attempt.—Shakespeare, Measure for Measure

Come traitor doubt, you I embrace

In place of hope’s beguiling face,

The greatest traitor of them all

That draws despair up like a pall.

Evaded, we might have a chance

To dance at least a seemly dance,

Not cultivate some monkey creed

In whose foul name all life will bleed.

Where once we sailed the Seven Seas

To find new worlds to plunder, please,

We ought first to have asked the trees

And creatures of our native Earth.

These know full well what apes are worth

Who plot against the realm we've got.

November 2, 2024