George Gordon Noel Byron

Ye tuneful cobblers! still your notes prolong,
Compose at once a slipper and a song;
So shall read more

Ye tuneful cobblers! still your notes prolong,
Compose at once a slipper and a song;
So shall the fair your handiwork peruse,
Your sonnets sure shall please--perhaps your shoes.

Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach
Who please, the more because they preach in vain,--
read more

Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach
Who please, the more because they preach in vain,--
Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter,
Sermons and soda-water the day after.

A would-be satirist, a hired buffoon,
A monthly scribbler of some low lampoon,
Condemn'd to drudge, the read more

A would-be satirist, a hired buffoon,
A monthly scribbler of some low lampoon,
Condemn'd to drudge, the meanest of the mean,
And furbish falsehoods for a magazine.

Jack was embarrassed--never hero more,
And as he knew not what to say, he swore.

Jack was embarrassed--never hero more,
And as he knew not what to say, he swore.

Romances paint at full length people's wooings,
But only give a bust of marriages:
For no one read more

Romances paint at full length people's wooings,
But only give a bust of marriages:
For no one cares for matrimonial cooings.
There's nothing wrong in a connubial kiss.
Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife,
He would have written sonnets all his life?