Maxioms by Robert Pollok
Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.
Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.
Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare,
And beauty draws us with a single hair.
Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare,
And beauty draws us with a single hair.
Friend, for your epitaph I'm grieved,
Where still so much is said;
One half will never be read more
Friend, for your epitaph I'm grieved,
Where still so much is said;
One half will never be believed,
The other never read.
Or will you think, my friend, your bus'ness done
When, of a hundred thorns, you pull out one.
Or will you think, my friend, your bus'ness done
When, of a hundred thorns, you pull out one.
What mighty contests rise from trivial things.
What mighty contests rise from trivial things.
