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