Maxioms by John Byrom
Dreading that climax of all earthly ills,
The inflammation of his weekly bills.
Dreading that climax of all earthly ills,
The inflammation of his weekly bills.
Demons in act, but gods at least in face.
Demons in act, but gods at least in face.
A sword laid by,
Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.
A sword laid by,
Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.
Ah, happy years, once more who would not be a boy!
Ah, happy years, once more who would not be a boy!
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.
