“Oh! who would fight and march and countermarch,
Be shot for sixpence in a battle-field
And shovell’d up into some bloody trench
Where no one knows? but let me live my life.
Oh! who would cast and balance at a desk.
Perch’d like a crow upon a three-legged stool.
Till all his juice is dried, and all his joints
Are full of chalk? but let me live my life.
Oh! who would love? I woo’d a woman once
But she was sharper than the Eastern wind
And all my heart turned from her, as a thorn
Turns from the sea; but let me live my life.”
Tennyson. Audley Court