George Gordon Noel Byron

Oh, for a forty-parson power to chant
Thy praise, Hypocrisy! Oh, for a hymn
Loud as the read more

Oh, for a forty-parson power to chant
Thy praise, Hypocrisy! Oh, for a hymn
Loud as the virtues thou dost loudly vaunt,
Not practise!

Around his form his loose long robe was thrown,
And wrapt a breast bestowed on heaven alone.

Around his form his loose long robe was thrown,
And wrapt a breast bestowed on heaven alone.

He left a Corsair's name to other times,
Linked with one virtue, and a thousand crimes.

He left a Corsair's name to other times,
Linked with one virtue, and a thousand crimes.

And both were young, and one was beautiful.

And both were young, and one was beautiful.

A man must serve his time to every trade
Save censure--critics all are ready made.
Take hackney'd read more

A man must serve his time to every trade
Save censure--critics all are ready made.
Take hackney'd jokes from Miller, got by rote,
With just enough of learning to misquote;
A mind well skill'd to find or forge a fault;
A turn for punning, call it Attic salt;
To Jeffrey go, be silent and discreet,
His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet;
Fear not to lie, 'twill seem a lucky hit;
Shrink not from blasphemy, 'twill pass for wit;
Care not for feeling--pass your proper jest,
And stand a critic, hated yet caress'd.