Until we meet again in our next lifetime, mo cridhe.
Tha gaol agam ort.
Always and

Con Te Partiro
from your Angel

Sonnet - Forbid Me Not

by Iain Norrie

Forbid me not to love, for never yet

was any ever made whose heart would yield

to such impossible command. 'Tis set

my heart is fixed and my intention sealed

you were my first choice, as my heart awoke

your light and lovesome fancy took my bent

through time and custom and the smiles of folk

I never saw a reason to repent

we suit each other well, both you and I

too wise are we to woo our way in peace

though fashion as a leaf may droop and die

my out of season loving shall not cease

and as the winter leaf is evergreen

so shall my heart beat ever for Colleen

A favourite Irish song, sung in many an Irish pub,
with good friends and family.

The Wild Rover

I've been a wild rover for many a year 
And I spent all my money on whiskey and beer, 
And now I'm returning with gold in great store 
And I never will play the wild rover no more. 



chorus: And it's no, nay, never, 
No nay never no more, 
Will I play the wild rover 
No never no more. 

I went to an ale-house I used to frequent 
And I told the landlady my money was spent. 
I asked her for credit, she answered me "nay 
Such a custom as yours I could have any day." 

chorus

I took from my pocket ten sovereigns bright 
And the landlady's eyes opened wide with delight. 
She said "I have whiskey and wines of the best 
And the words that I spoke sure were only in jest." 

chorus 

I'll go home to my parents, confess what I've done 
And I'll ask them to pardon their prodigal son. 
And if they caress (forgive) me as ofttimes before 
Sure I never will play the wild rover no more. 

chorus

-------------------------------------------

To Be or not to be, That IS the question,
whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, ,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die; to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause; there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
That undiscover'd country from whose bourne
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd. (III,i)
* * * * * * * * * * * *

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