Samuel Butler

The moon pull'd off her veil of light,
That hides her face by day from sight
(Mysterious read more

The moon pull'd off her veil of light,
That hides her face by day from sight
(Mysterious veil, of brightness made,)
That's both her lustre and her shade),
And in the lantern of the night,
With shining horns hung out her light.

H' had got a hurt
O' th' inside of a deadlier sort.

H' had got a hurt
O' th' inside of a deadlier sort.

For now the field is not far off
Where we must give the world a proof
Of read more

For now the field is not far off
Where we must give the world a proof
Of deeds, not words.

Shear swine, all cry and no wool.

Shear swine, all cry and no wool.

With mortal crisis doth portend,
My days to appropinque an end.

With mortal crisis doth portend,
My days to appropinque an end.