a door in the door
taking occasion to complain
of the supper
white Christmas
the dog desiring both
to be out and in
my son’s old kite
I put on my velvet coat
to go to town
I paint for pay
and stay to dinner,
my house a mess.
Dress me in white
and I turn very ill.
Captain Cock
is an able man
but his gifts are little—all talk—
and he continues to be afraid
of the holster.
A simple church:
men in hats blessing
without waking.
I bury my pen
and pray to Bed.
Ask me the time and I point to the sun.
An oak is a fine scholar of the ear.
Comfort took me to the temple Ease.
This instrument
like a fat foot with no bone
tells me to fit myself for bed,
tells a beggar to meddle
or make wit.
A port to drink in.
The fish left my head
and hands to
their sea of mischief.
Come, buy, talk, dine,
demand, agree, use, meddle:
the client is a little god
of trouble—
one that I believe in.
A theorbo
is as good as
a captain of
a theater,
a woman in
men’s clothes,
the best legs,
an alehouse,
a hit,
a hand-
some urn.
All day a cat and the snow
by themselves
were merry.