Samuel Butler

And bid the devil take the hin'most.

And bid the devil take the hin'most.

And still be doing, never done.

And still be doing, never done.

With mortal crisis doth portend,
My days to appropinque an end.

With mortal crisis doth portend,
My days to appropinque an end.

The moon pull'd off her veil of light,
That hides her face by day from sight
(Mysterious read more

The moon pull'd off her veil of light,
That hides her face by day from sight
(Mysterious veil, of brightness made,)
That's both her lustre and her shade),
And in the lantern of the night,
With shining horns hung out her light.

He was in Logic, a great critic,
Profoundly skill'd in Analytic;
He could distinguish, and divide
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He was in Logic, a great critic,
Profoundly skill'd in Analytic;
He could distinguish, and divide
A hair 'twixt south and south-west side.