Aaron Hill

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.

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

She was one of those who by fortune's boon
Are born, as they say, with a silver spoon
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She was one of those who by fortune's boon
Are born, as they say, with a silver spoon
In her mouth, not a wooden ladle.

There's not a string attuned to mirth,
But has its chord in melancholy.

There's not a string attuned to mirth,
But has its chord in melancholy.

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."