Aaron Hill

Behold him in conceited circles sail,
Strutting and dancing and now planted stiff,
In all his pomp read more

Behold him in conceited circles sail,
Strutting and dancing and now planted stiff,
In all his pomp of pageantry, as if
He felt the eyes of Europe on his tail.

When Christ at Cana's feast by pow'r divine,
Inspir'd cold water, with the warmth of wine,
See! read more

When Christ at Cana's feast by pow'r divine,
Inspir'd cold water, with the warmth of wine,
See! cry'd they while, in red'ning tide, it gush'd,
The bashful stream hath seen its God and blush'd.

Look here, he cries (to give him words):
Thou feathered clay, thou scum of birds!
Look here, read more

Look here, he cries (to give him words):
Thou feathered clay, thou scum of birds!
Look here, thou vile, predestined sinner,
Doomed to be roasted for a dinner.

To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells
Ring Sabbath knells;
The sod's a cushion for his pious read more

To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells
Ring Sabbath knells;
The sod's a cushion for his pious want,
And, consecrated by the heaven within it,
The sky-blue pool a font.

The more the eggs, the worse the hatch,
The more the fish, the worse the catch.

The more the eggs, the worse the hatch,
The more the fish, the worse the catch.