Aihin13

There is holy rood in wit and wine and pleasure found neath maidens's skirts; though Queen Mab's tongue hath honeyed mine, I cast my lot where romance shirks. The lover's way was nere for me - I played the voice of wanton lord sweet martyr to philosophy, a poet bested by a sword. I tipped my blade in cynics' jests made meat and drink of cunning fate; my doublet shunned the friar's breath, fair curses strewn around my pate. But still I'll bleed a noble death neath tawdry stars like courtesans; among the stones to seek my rest, come morning I'm the gravest man.