Maxioms by Samuel Butler
And poets by their sufferings grow,--
As if there were no more to do,
To make a read more
And poets by their sufferings grow,--
As if there were no more to do,
To make a poet excellent,
But only want and discontent.
Cry out upon the stars for doing
Ill offices, to cross their wooing.
Cry out upon the stars for doing
Ill offices, to cross their wooing.
This hairy meteor did announce
The fall of sceptres and of crowns.
This hairy meteor did announce
The fall of sceptres and of crowns.
And pulpit, drum ecclesiastic,
Was beat with fist instead of a stick.
And pulpit, drum ecclesiastic,
Was beat with fist instead of a stick.
'Tis not antiquity, nor author,
That makes truth truth, altho' time's daughter.
'Tis not antiquity, nor author,
That makes truth truth, altho' time's daughter.
