Make ends meet

Since for the last time I the Brocken scale, That folk are ripe for doomsday,

now one sees; And just because my cask begins to fail, So the whole world is

Stop, gentlemen, nor pass me by, Of wares I have a choice collection: Pray

honour them with your inspection. Lose not his opportunity! Yet nothing in my

booth you'll find Without its counterpart on earth; there's naught, Which to the

world, and to mankind, Hath not some direful mischief wrought. No dagger

here, which hath not flow'd with blood, No chalice, whence, into some

healthy frame Hath not been poured hot poison's wasting flood. No trinket,