“Fast, Fast, Fresh Mount, Keep Time with Thy Young Years”--*

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Fast, fast, fresh mount, keep time with thy young years;
Yet faster yet, oh tightened, supple springs;
List not the heavy part thy burden bears,
Doe makes quick her decision when she springs.
Mail must get through,
All rides on you;
Our duties are but ours;
Oh, I could brag,
Like falling rocks upon some jagged crag,
Clop, clop, clop, clop,
Since pony’s pride is now a leathered mailbag.

-James V. Watson, Jr.
5-29-90

*--(Simulacrum of Ben Johnson’s “Slow, Slow Fresh Fount, Keep Time with My Salt Tears”-below)

Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears;
Yet slower yet, oh faintly, gentle springs;
List to the heavy part the music bears,
Woe weeps out her division when she sings.
Droop herbs and flowers,
Fall grief in showers;
Our beauties are not ours;
Oh, I could still,
Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,
Drop, drop, drop, drop,
Since nature’s pride is now a withered daffodil.

-Ben Johnson (1573-1637)