George Crabbe

Feel you the barren flattery of a rhyme?
Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread,
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Feel you the barren flattery of a rhyme?
Can poets soothe you, when you pine for bread,
By winding myrtle round your ruin'd shed?

The wife was pretty, trifling, childish, weak;
She could not think, but would not cease to speak.

The wife was pretty, trifling, childish, weak;
She could not think, but would not cease to speak.

But 'twas a maxim he had often tried,
That right was right, and there he would abide.

But 'twas a maxim he had often tried,
That right was right, and there he would abide.

But monument themselves memorials need.

But monument themselves memorials need.

"What is a church?" Let Truth and reason speak,
They would reply, "The faithful, pure and meek,
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"What is a church?" Let Truth and reason speak,
They would reply, "The faithful, pure and meek,
From Christian folds, the one selected race,
Of all professions, and in every place."