Be kind and tender to the Frog,
And do not call him names,
As " Slimy skin", or " Polly-wog",
Or likewise " Ugly James",
Or " Gape-a-grin", or " Toad-gone-wrong",
Or " Billy Bandy-knees":
The Frog is justly sensitive
To epithets like these.
No animal will more repay
A treatment kind and fair;
At least so lonely people say
Who keep a frog (and, by the way,
They are extremely rare).

he: Be it right or wrong, these men among
On women do complain;
Affirming this, how that it is
A labour spent in vain
To love them wele; for never a dele
They love a man again:
For let a man do what he can
Their favour to attain,
Yet if a new to them pursue,
Their first true lover than
Laboureth for naught; for from her thought
He is a banished man.

she: I say not nay, but that all day
It is both written and said
That woman's faith is, as who saith,
All utterly decayed:
But nevertheless, right good witness

Henley, what mark you in the sunset glare?
The year is dying: is that the crimson splash
Wherewith he seals his testament? the cash,
To some conveying of all things good and fair,
To others unutterable emptiness? the stare
Of folly at a bubble trimmed with trash,
Or at a flame, whose unsubstantial ash
Falls in a gaping darkness and despair?
Friend, scholar loved, look longer: how it glows,
Not glares! God opes a perspective to see
The chambers of the ivory palaces.
And who is that within its encircling rose?

Be governour baith guid and gratious;
Be leill and luifand to thy liegis all;
Be large of fredome and no thing desyrous;
Be just to pure for ony thing may fall;
Be ferme of faith and constant as ane wall;
Be reddye evir to stanche evill and discord;
Be cheretabill, and sickerlye thou sall
Be bowsum ay to knaw thy God and Lord.

Be nocht to proud of wardlie guidis heir;
Be weill bethocht thai will remane na tyde;
Be sicker als that thou man die but weir;
Be war thairwith the tyme will no man byde;
Be vertewus and set all vyce on syde;

Be glaid, al ye that luvaris bene,
For now hes May depaynt with grene
The hillis, valis and the medis,
And flouris lustely upspreidis.
Awalk out of your sluggairdy
To heir the birdis melody,
Quhois suggourit nottis, loud and cleir,
Is now ane parradice to heir.
Go, walk upoun sum rever fair;
Go, tak the fresch and holsum air;
Go, luk upoun the flurist fell;
Go, feill the herbis plesand smell,
Quhilk will your comfort gar incres,
And all avoyd your havines.
The new-cled purpour hevin aspy;
Behald the lark now in the sky;

Be dumb you Beggars of the rhythming Trade,
Geld your loose wits, & let your Muse be spade.
Charge not the Parish with your bastard Phrase
Of Balm, Elixir, both the India's ,
Of Shrine, Saint, Sacrifice, and such as these,
Expressions common as your Mistresses.
Hence you Phantastick Postillers in Song,
My Text defeats your Art, ties Nature's tongue,
Scorns all her Tinsoyl'd Metaphors of Pelf,
Illustrated by nothing but her self.
As Spiders travel by their bowels spun
Into a Thread, and when the Race is run,

When an original copy of “Songs of Innocence,” etched and colored by the author, was left overnight on my pillow)
B E a god, your spirit cried;
Tread with feet that burn the dew;
Dress with clouds your locks of pride;
Be a child, God said to you.

Then with blood a wild sea-wave,
Then while Death drew near to look,
Firm your fingers grew and gave
Man and me this gentle book.

Dream that burns the dreamer mad
Swept you through and did not sere;
Forth you looked, a little lad;
Sang the songs that all may hear.

The bawl of a steer,
To a cowboy's ear,
Is music of sweetest strain;
And the yelping notes
Of the gray coyotes
To him are a glad refrain.

And his jolly songs
Speed him along,
As he thinks of the little gal
With golden hair
Who is waiting there
At the bars of the home corral.

For a kingly crown
In the noisy town
His saddle he wouldn't change;
No life so free
As the life we see
Way out on the Yaso range.

His eyes are bright
And his heart as light
As the smoke of his cigarette;

When Old Dai goes down below,
He may still make Young Springtime brew;
But there's no Li Bo on the Terrace of Night,
So who in hell will he sell it to?

Beneath the blossoms with a pot of wine,
No friends at hand, so I poured alone;
I raised my cup to invite the moon,
Turned to my shadow, and we became three.
Now the moon had never learned about my drinking,
And my shadow had merely followed my form,
But I quickly made friends with the moon and my shadow;
To find pleasure in life, make the most of the spring.

Whenever I sang, the moon swayed with me;
Whenever I danced, my shadow went wild.
Drinking, we shared our enjoyment together;