please yourself how you have it.

take my words, and fling

them down on the counter roundly;

see if they ring.

sift my looks and expressions,

and see what proportion there is

of sand in my doubtful sugar

of verities.

have a real stock-taking

of my manly breast;

find out if i'm sound or bankrupt,

or a poor thing at best.

for i am quite indifferent

to your dubious state,

as to whether you've found a fortune

in me, or a flea-bitten fate.

make a good investigation

of all that is there,

and then, if it's worth it, be grateful—

if not then despair.

if despair is our portion

then let us despair.

let us make for the weeping willow.

i don't care.