Robert Pollok

He sat among his bags, and, with a look
Which hell might be ashamed of, drove the poor
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He sat among his bags, and, with a look
Which hell might be ashamed of, drove the poor
Away unalmed; and midst abundance died--
Sorest of evils!--died of utter want.

Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.

Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.

Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.

Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.

Friend, for your epitaph I'm grieved,
Where still so much is said;
One half will never be read more

Friend, for your epitaph I'm grieved,
Where still so much is said;
One half will never be believed,
The other never read.

A fly, a grape-stone, or a hair can kill.

A fly, a grape-stone, or a hair can kill.