John Byrom

But sighs subside, and tears (even widows') shrink,
Like Arno in the summer, to a shallow.

But sighs subside, and tears (even widows') shrink,
Like Arno in the summer, to a shallow.

A tigress, robb'd of young, a lioness,
Or other interesting beast of prey,
Are similes at hand read more

A tigress, robb'd of young, a lioness,
Or other interesting beast of prey,
Are similes at hand for the distress
Of ladies who cannot have their own way.

He makes a solitude, and calls it peace.

He makes a solitude, and calls it peace.

My hair is grey, but not with years.

My hair is grey, but not with years.

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.