George Canning

Needy knife-grinder! whither are ye going?
Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order;
Bleak read more

Needy knife-grinder! whither are ye going?
Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order;
Bleak blows the blast--your hat has got a hole in it.
So have your breeches.

I called the New World into existence to redress the balance of
the Old.

I called the New World into existence to redress the balance of
the Old.

Here's to the pilot that weathered the storm.

Here's to the pilot that weathered the storm.

Give me the avowed, the erect, the manly foe;
Bold I can meet--perhaps may turn his blow;
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Give me the avowed, the erect, the manly foe;
Bold I can meet--perhaps may turn his blow;
But of all plagues, good Heaven, thy wrath can send,
Save, save, oh! save me from the candid friend.

And finds with keen, discriminating sight,
Black's not so black--nor white so very white.

And finds with keen, discriminating sight,
Black's not so black--nor white so very white.