"Here the hangman stops his cart: <br />Now the best of friends must part. <br />Fare you well, for ill fare I: <br />Live, lads, and I will die. <br /> <br />"Oh, at home had I but stayed <br />'Prenticed to my father's trade, <br />Had I stuck to plane and adze, <br />I had not been lost, my lads. <br /> <br />"Then I might have built perhaps <br />Gallows-trees for other chaps, <br />Never dangled on my own, <br />Had I left but ill alone. <br /> <br />"Now, you see, they hang me high, <br />And the people passing by <br />Stop to shake their fists and curse; <br />So 'tis come from ill to worse. <br /> <br />"Here hang I, and right and left <br />Two poor fellows hang for theft: <br />All the same's the luck we prove, <br />Though the midmost hangs for love. <br /> <br />"Comrades all, that stand and gaze, <br />Walk henceforth in other ways; <br />See my neck and save your own: <br />Comrades all, leave ill alone. <br /> <br />"Make some day a decent end, <br />Shrewder fellows than your friend. <br />Fare you well, for ill fare I: <br />Live lads, and I will die."<br /><br />Alfred Edward Housman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-carpenter-s-son/
