George Crabbe

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?

Oh, Conscience! Conscience! man's most faithful friend,
Him canst thou comfort, ease, relieve, defend;
But if he read more

Oh, Conscience! Conscience! man's most faithful friend,
Him canst thou comfort, ease, relieve, defend;
But if he will thy friendly checks forego,
Thou art, oh! woe for me, his deadliest foe!

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.

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

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

Come, now again, thy woes impart,
Tell all thy sorrows, all thy sin;
We cannot heal the read more

Come, now again, thy woes impart,
Tell all thy sorrows, all thy sin;
We cannot heal the throbbing heart
Will we discern the wounds within.