"Full Well I Know . . . "

FULL well I know -- my friends -- ye look on me A living specter of my Father dead -- Had I not bourne his name, had I not fed On him, as one leaf trembling on a tree, A woeful waste had been my minstrelsy -- Yet have I sung of maidens newly wed And I have wished that hearts too sharply bled Should throb with less of pain, and heave more free By my endeavor. Still alone I sit Counting each thought as miser counts a penny, Wishing to spend my pennyworth of wit On antic wheel of fortune like a zany: You love me for my sire, to you unknown, Revere me for his sake, and love me for my own.