George Crabbe

"What is a church?" Let Truth and reason speak,
They would reply, "The faithful, pure and meek,
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"What is a church?" Let Truth and reason speak,
They would reply, "The faithful, pure and meek,
From Christian folds, the one selected race,
Of all professions, and in every place."

The wife was pretty, trifling, childish, weak;
She could not think, but would not cease to speak.

The wife was pretty, trifling, childish, weak;
She could not think, but would not cease to speak.

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

Some hearts are hidden, some have not a heart.

Some hearts are hidden, some have not a heart.

Feed the musician, and he's out of tune

Feed the musician, and he's out of tune