Maxioms by Aaron Hill
There's not a string attuned to mirth,
But has its chord in melancholy.
There's not a string attuned to mirth,
But has its chord in melancholy.
But, oh! the love that gold must crown!
But, oh! the love that gold must crown!
Look here, he cries (to give him words):
Thou feathered clay, thou scum of birds!
Look here, read more
Look here, he cries (to give him words):
Thou feathered clay, thou scum of birds!
Look here, thou vile, predestined sinner,
Doomed to be roasted for a dinner.
The doctors gave her over--to an ass.
The doctors gave her over--to an ass.
Who backs his rigid Sabbath, so to speak,
Against the wicked remnant of the week."
Who backs his rigid Sabbath, so to speak,
Against the wicked remnant of the week."
