John Byrom

A sword laid by,
Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.

A sword laid by,
Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.

Some say, that Seignior Bononchini
Compar'd to Handel's a mere Ninny;
Others aver, to him, that Handel
read more

Some say, that Seignior Bononchini
Compar'd to Handel's a mere Ninny;
Others aver, to him, that Handel
Is scarcely fit to hold a candle.
Strange! that such high Disputes shou'd be
'Twixt Tweedledum and Tweedledee.

I love my neighbor as myself,
Myself like him too, by his leave,
Nor to his pleasure, read more

I love my neighbor as myself,
Myself like him too, by his leave,
Nor to his pleasure, power or pelf
Came I to crouch, as I conceive.
Dame Nature doubtless has designed
A man the monarch of his mind.

Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?
Does aught read more

Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue?
And where is the violet's beautiful blue?
Does aught of its sweetness the blossom beguile?
That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile?

But thy true lovers more admire by far
Thy naked beauties; give me a cigar.

But thy true lovers more admire by far
Thy naked beauties; give me a cigar.