Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink for fellows whom it hurts to think.

Earth and high heaven are fixed of old and founded strong.

Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose, But young men think it is, and we were young.

The thoughts of others Were light and fleeting, Of lovers' meeting Or luck or fame. Mine were of trouble, And mine were steady; So I was ready When trouble came.

Could man be drunk for ever With liquor, love, or fights, Lief should I rouse at morning And lief lie down of nights. But men at whiles are sober And think by fits and starts, And if they think, they fasten Their hands upon their hearts.

Experience has taught me, when I am shaving of a morning, to keep watch over my thoughts, because, if a line of poetry strays into my memory, my skin bristles so that the razor ceases to act.

And how am I to face the odds Of man's bedevilment and God's? I, a stranger and afraid In a world I never made.