O " WILLIAM, " in thy blithe companionship
What liberty is mine — what sweet release
From clamorous strife, and yet what boisterous peace!
Ho! ho! it is thy fancy's finger-tip
That dints the dimple now, and kinks the lip
That scarce may sing, in all this glad increase
Of merriment! So, pray-thee, do not cease
To cheer me thus; — for, underneath the quip
Of thy droll sorcery, the wrangling fret
Of all distress is stilled — no syllable
Of sorrow vexeth me — no tear-drops wet
My teeming lids save those that leap to tell
Thee thou'st a guest that overweepeth, yet
Only because thou jokest overwell.