Luyện nghe bài hát Lord Chancellor's Nightmare Song

Love unrequited, robs me of me
Love, hopeless love, my ardent encumbers
Love, nightmare like, heavy on me chest
And weaves into my midnight slumbers

When you're awake with a dismal headache
And repose is by anxiety
I you may use any language
You choose to indulge in, without

For your is on fire, the bed-clothes conspire
Of slumber to plunder you
First your counter goes and uncovers your toes
And your slips demurely from under you

Then the blanketing tickles, you feel like
Pickles, so terribly is the pricking
And you're hot and cross and you tumble and
Toss 'til there's nothing you and the ticking

the bed clothes all creep to the ground in a heap
And you 'em all up in a tangle
Next your resigns and politely declines
To at its usual angle

Well, you get some repose in the of a dose
With hot eye and head ever aching
But slumbering teems with such horrible dreams
That you'd much better be waking

For you dream you are the Channel
And about in a steamer from Harwich
is something between a large bathing machine
And a small second class carriage

And you're giving a treat ice and cold meat
To a party of friends and
They're a ravenous and they all come on board
At Square and South Kensington Stations

And bound on that journey you find your
Who this morning from Devon
He's a bit undersiz'd and you don't feel
When he tells you he's only

Well you're driving mad with this singular lad
By the bye the ship's now a wheeler
And you're playing games, and he calls you bad names
When you tell him that, pay the dealer

But this you stand so you throw up your hand
And you find you're as cold as an
In your shirt and your socks the black silk with gold
Crossing Plain on a bicycle

And he and the are on bicycles too
Which they've somehow or invested in
And he's telling the tars all the
Of a company interested in

It's a scheme of devices, to get at low
All good cough mixtures to cables
tickled the sailors, by treating retailers as
Though were all vegetables

You get a good man to plant a small tradesman
First take off his boots a boot tree
And his legs will take root, and his will shoot
And they'll blossom and bud like a fruit

From the green grocer you get grapes
And green pea, cauliflower, apple and cranberries
While the pastry plant cherry brandy will grant
puffs and three corners and banburys

The shares are a and ever so many
Are by Rothschild and Baring
And as a few are allotted to you
You and with a shudder despairing

You're a regular wreck, with a crick in neck
And no wonder you snore, for head's on the floor
And you've needles and pins from soles to your shins
And flesh is acreep, for your left leg's asleep

And you've cramp in toes and a fly on your nose
And some fluff in your lung and a tongue
And a thirst intense
And a sense that you haven't been sleeping in clover

But the darkness has pass'd, and daylight at last
And the night has long, ditto, ditto my song
And goodness they're both of them over