Aaron Hill

The man who pauses on the paths of treason,
Halts on a quicksand, the first step engulfs him.

The man who pauses on the paths of treason,
Halts on a quicksand, the first step engulfs him.

A name, it has more than nominal worth,
And belongs to good or bad luck at birth.

A name, it has more than nominal worth,
And belongs to good or bad luck at birth.

At night, to his own sharp fancies a prey,
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way,
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At night, to his own sharp fancies a prey,
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way,
Tormenting himself with his prickles.

But, oh! the love that gold must crown!

But, oh! the love that gold must crown!

Tender handed stroke a nettle,
And it stings you for your pains;
Grasp it like a man read more

Tender handed stroke a nettle,
And it stings you for your pains;
Grasp it like a man of mettle,
And it soft as silk remains.