Terrence, this is stupid stuff / A.E. Housman
| dc.contributor | Hart, Michael Stern University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Urbana-Champaign |
| dc.contributor.author | Housman, A.E. (Alfred Edward), 1859-1936 |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2018-07-27 |
| dc.date.accessioned | 2019-07-04T09:54:58Z |
| dc.date.available | 2019-07-04T09:54:58Z |
| dc.date.created | 1896 |
| dc.date.issued | 1992-01-16 |
| dc.identifier | ota:1509 |
| dc.identifier.citation | http://purl.ox.ac.uk/ota/1509 |
| dc.identifier.uri | http://hdl.handle.net/20.500.12024/1509 |
| dc.description.abstract | Housman, A.E. (Alfred Edward), 1859-1936. -- Terrence, this is stupid stuff. -- s.l. : s.n., s.d. |
| dc.format.extent | Text data (1 file : ca. 4 KB) |
| dc.format.medium | Digital bitstream |
| dc.language | English |
| dc.language.iso | eng |
| dc.publisher | University of Oxford |
| dc.relation.ispartof | Oxford Text Archive Core Collection |
| dc.rights | Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. |
| dc.rights.uri | http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/ |
| dc.rights.label | PUB |
| dc.subject.lcsh | English poetry -- 19th century |
| dc.subject.other | Poems |
| dc.title | Terrence, this is stupid stuff / A.E. Housman |
| dc.type | Text |
| has.files | yes |
| branding | Oxford Text Archive |
| files.size | 8364 |
| files.count | 2 |
| otaterms.date.range | 1800-1899 |
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A. E. Housman
TERENCE, THIS IS STUPID STUFF
"Terence, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
It gives a chap the belly-ache.
The cow, the old cow, she is dead;
It sleeps well, the horned head:
We poor lads, 'tis our turn now
To hear such tunes as killed the cow.
Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme
Your friends to death before their time
Moping melancholy mad:
Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad."
Why, if 'tis dancing you would be,
There's brisker pipes than poetry.
Say, for what were hop-yards meant,
Or why was Burton built on Trent?
Oh many a peer of England brew . . .
