Aaron Hill

Tender-handed stroke a nettle,
And it stings you for your pains;
Grasp it like a man of read more

Tender-handed stroke a nettle,
And it stings you for your pains;
Grasp it like a man of mettle,
And it soft as silk remains.
'Tis the same with common natures,
Use 'em kindly, they rebel;
But, be rough as nutmeg-graters,
And the rogues obey you well.

At night, to his own sharp fancies a prey,
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way,
read more

At night, to his own sharp fancies a prey,
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way,
Tormenting himself with his prickles.

Who backs his rigid Sabbath, so to speak,
Against the wicked remnant of the week."

Who backs his rigid Sabbath, so to speak,
Against the wicked remnant of the week."

"Rogue that I am," he whispers to himself,
"I lie, I cheat--do anything for pelf,
But who read more

"Rogue that I am," he whispers to himself,
"I lie, I cheat--do anything for pelf,
But who on earth can say I am not pious?"

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.