Aaron Hill Sayings

Tender-handed stroke a nettle,
And it stings you for your pains;
Grasp it like a man of 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.
'Tis the same with common natures,
Use 'em kindly, they rebel;
But, be rough as nutmeg-graters,
And the rogues obey you well.

Behold him in conceited circles sail,
Strutting and dancing and now planted stiff,
In all his pomp more

Behold him in conceited circles sail,
Strutting and dancing and now planted stiff,
In all his pomp of pageantry, as if
He felt the eyes of Europe on his tail.

A man may cry, Church! Church! at ev'ry word,
With no pore piety than other people--
A more

A man may cry, Church! Church! at ev'ry word,
With no pore piety than other people--
A daw's not reckoned a religious bird
Because it keeps a-cawing from a steeple.

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,
more

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

Hundreds of men were turned into beasts,
Like the guests at Circe's horrible feasts,
By the magic more

Hundreds of men were turned into beasts,
Like the guests at Circe's horrible feasts,
By the magic of ale and cider.

He comes to the world, as a gentleman comes
To a lodging ready furnished.

He comes to the world, as a gentleman comes
To a lodging ready furnished.

To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells
Ring Sabbath knells;
The sod's a cushion for his pious more

To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells
Ring Sabbath knells;
The sod's a cushion for his pious want,
And, consecrated by the heaven within it,
The sky-blue pool a font.

Look here, he cries (to give him words):
Thou feathered clay, thou scum of birds!
Look here, 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.

Just as the felon condemn'd to die--
With a very natural loathing--
Leaving the sheriff to dream more

Just as the felon condemn'd to die--
With a very natural loathing--
Leaving the sheriff to dream of ropes,
From his gloomy cell in a vision elopes,
To caper on sunny greens and slopes,
Instead of the dance upon nothing.