Maxioms by Ben Jonson
The voice so sweet, the words so fair,
As some soft chime had stroked the air;
And read more
The voice so sweet, the words so fair,
As some soft chime had stroked the air;
And though the sound had parted thence,
Still left an echo in the sense.
Her treading would not bend a blade of grass,
Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk!
Her treading would not bend a blade of grass,
Or shake the downy blow-ball from his stalk!
The burnt child dreads the fire.
The burnt child dreads the fire.
The world knows only two, that's Rome and I.
The world knows only two, that's Rome and I.
