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Poem	There's little to have but the things I had, There's little to bear but the things I bore. There's nothing to carry and naught to add, And glory to Heaven, I paid the score. There's little to do but I did before, There's little to learn but the things I know; And this is the sum of a lasting lore: Scratch a lover, and find a foe. And couldn't it be I was young and mad If ever my heart on my sleeve I wore? There's many to claw at a heart unclad, And little the wonder it ripped and tore. There's one that'll join in their push and roar, With stories to jabber, and stones to throw; He'll fetch you a lesson that costs you sore: Scratch a lover, and find a foe. So little I'll offer to you, my lad; It's little in loving I set my store. There's many a maid would be flushed and glad, And better you'll knock at a kindlier door. I'll dig at my lettuce, and sweep my floor, Forever, forever I'm done with woe. And happen I'll whistle about my chore, "Scratch a lover, and find a foe." L'ENVOI Oh, beggar or prince, no more, no more! Be off and away with your strut and show. The sweeter the apple, the blacker the core: Scratch a lover, and find a foe!
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