George Crabbe

To sigh, yet not recede; to grieve, yet not repent!

To sigh, yet not recede; to grieve, yet not repent!

Void of all honor, avaricious, rash,
The daring tribe compound their boasted trash--
Tincture of syrup, lotion, read more

Void of all honor, avaricious, rash,
The daring tribe compound their boasted trash--
Tincture of syrup, lotion, drop, or pill;
All tempt the sick to trust the lying bill.

All green was vanished save of pine and yew,
That still displayed their melancholy hue;
Save the read more

All green was vanished save of pine and yew,
That still displayed their melancholy hue;
Save the green holly with its berries red,
And the green moss that o'er the gravel spread.

'Twas good advice, and meant,
"My son, be good."

'Twas good advice, and meant,
"My son, be good."

Feel you the barren flattery of a rhyme?
Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread,
read more

Feel you the barren flattery of a rhyme?
Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread,
By winding myrtle round your ruin'd shed?