John Byrom

But who would scorn the month of June,
Because December with his breath so hoary,
Must come? read more

But who would scorn the month of June,
Because December with his breath so hoary,
Must come? Much rather should he court the ray,
To hoard up warmth against a wintry day.

God bless the King--I mean the faith's defender;
God bless (no harm in blessing) the pretender;
But read more

God bless the King--I mean the faith's defender;
God bless (no harm in blessing) the pretender;
But who the pretender is, or who is King--
God bless us all--that's quite another thing.

The point is plain as a pike staff.

The point is plain as a pike staff.

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?

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.