George Gordon Noel Byron

Sorrow preys upon
Its solitude, and nothing more diverts it
From its sad visions of the other read more

Sorrow preys upon
Its solitude, and nothing more diverts it
From its sad visions of the other world
Than calling it at moments back to this.
The busy have no time for tears.

As good as a play.

As good as a play.

Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.

Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.

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.

And angling too, that solitary vice,
What Izaak Walton sings or says:
The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, read more

And angling too, that solitary vice,
What Izaak Walton sings or says:
The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet
Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it.