John Byrom

And all may think which way their judgments lead 'em.

And all may think which way their judgments lead 'em.

But time strips our illusions of their hue,
And one by one in turn some grand mistake
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But time strips our illusions of their hue,
And one by one in turn some grand mistake
Casts off its bright skin yearly like a snake.

Bone and Skin, two millers thin,
Would starve us all, or near it;
But be it known read more

Bone and Skin, two millers thin,
Would starve us all, or near it;
But be it known to Skin and Bone
That Flesh and Blood can't bear it.

His tact, too, temper'd him from grave to gay,
And taught him when to be reserved or free.

His tact, too, temper'd him from grave to gay,
And taught him when to be reserved or free.

But who would scorn the month of June,
Because December with his breath so hoary,
Must come? read more

But who would scorn the month of June,
Because December with his breath so hoary,
Must come? Much rather should he court the ray,
To hoard up warmth against a wintry day.