Esther M. Zimmer Lederberg
John Lyly Poem: Vulcan's Song In Making of the Arrows
MY shag-hair Cyclops, come, let's ply
Our Lemnian hammers lustily.
By my wife's sparrows,
I swear these arrows
Shall singing fly
Through many a wanton's eye.
These headed are with golden blisses,
These silver ones featered with kisses,
But of this of lead
Strikes a clown dead,
When in dance
He falls in a trance,
To see his black-brow lass not buss him,
And then whines out for death t'untruss him.
So, so : our work being done, let's play :
Holiday ! boys, cry holiday !
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