Samuel Butler

He could raise scruples dark and nice,
And after solve 'em in a trice;
As if Divinity read more

He could raise scruples dark and nice,
And after solve 'em in a trice;
As if Divinity had catch'd
The itch, on purpose to be scratched.

A grisly meteor on his face.

A grisly meteor on his face.

For as our modern wits behold,
Mounted a pick-back on the old,
Much farther off, much further read more

For as our modern wits behold,
Mounted a pick-back on the old,
Much farther off, much further he,
Rais'd on his aged Beast, could see.

To swallow gudgeons ere they're catch'd.
And count their chickens ere they're hatch'd.

To swallow gudgeons ere they're catch'd.
And count their chickens ere they're hatch'd.

This was the penn'worth of his thought.

This was the penn'worth of his thought.