If living is giving and taking and making and saking and forsaking and giving up and giving in, but sometimes winning love,
then I am all in favour of life.
Yes, I am.
And if this means I am an actor of terrible ham, neither competent nor lasting, just enjoyment and moment to be meted from this show,
then let it be so, my dear.
Let it be so.
For I am happier believing that what I do is good, even when disbelieving in the quality of my doing, and then what I really should,
is the duty and obligation
of all those who
would be good. But I am no longer wanting to be that kind of good; nor fear to be; nor care to see myself in such silly terms:
instead I do make a happy fool
of this thing
I now wildly prefer to call and bawl my beauty me! For in the freedom of ridicule, we find the release of true liberty
as maybe this we, both together,
do venture some mighty elsewhere!
So what do you say? What would you do? What could we make of a thrive which rejected thus all timorous tacking and stacking,
and just looked to itself
on our beloving yearns …?