Samuel Butler

Honor is like a widow, won
With brisk attempt and putting on.

Honor is like a widow, won
With brisk attempt and putting on.

The oyster-women lock'd their fish up,
And trudged away to cry, No Bishop.

The oyster-women lock'd their fish up,
And trudged away to cry, No Bishop.

So justice while she winks at crimes,
Stumbles on innocence sometimes.

So justice while she winks at crimes,
Stumbles on innocence sometimes.

He who does not make his words rather serve to conceal than
discover the sense of his heart deserves read more

He who does not make his words rather serve to conceal than
discover the sense of his heart deserves to have it pulled out
like a traitor's and shown publicly to the rabble.

And poets by their sufferings grow,--
As if there were no more to do,
To make a read more

And poets by their sufferings grow,--
As if there were no more to do,
To make a poet excellent,
But only want and discontent.