George Gordon Noel Byron

Rough Johnson, the great moralist.

Rough Johnson, the great moralist.

For everything seemed resting on his nod,
As they could read in all eyes. Now to them,
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For everything seemed resting on his nod,
As they could read in all eyes. Now to them,
Who were accustomed, as a sort of god,
To see the sultan, rich in many a gem,
Like an imperial peacock stalk abroad
(That royal bird, whose tail's a diadem,)
With all the pomp of power, it was a doubt
How power could condescend to do without.

Sofas 'twas half a sin to sit upon,
So costly were they; carpets, every stitch
Of workmanship read more

Sofas 'twas half a sin to sit upon,
So costly were they; carpets, every stitch
Of workmanship so rare, they make you wish
You could glide o'er them like a golden fish.

The tenor's voice is spoilt by affectation,
And for the bass, the beast can only bellow;
In read more

The tenor's voice is spoilt by affectation,
And for the bass, the beast can only bellow;
In fact, he had no singing education,
An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow.

Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried?

Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried?