Short Poems

The Poor in Wit or Judgment, like all Poor,
Revile, for having least, those who have more:
So 'tis the Critick's Scarcity of Wit
Makes him traduce them who have most of it.
Since to their Pitch himself he cannot raise,
He them to his mean Level would debase.
Acting like Demons, that would All deprive
Of Heav'n, to which themselves can ne'er arrive.

The poor benighted Hindoo,
He does the besThe kindoo;
— He sticks to caste
— From first to last;
— For pants he makes his skindoo.

O all ye nations of the Lord,
Praise ye the Lord always;
And all ye people everywhere
Set forth His noble praise.
For great His kindness is to His,
His truth endures for aye;
Wherefore praise ye the Lord our God,
Praise ye the Lord I say.

Please to remember
The Fifth of November,
Gunpowder treason and plot;
I see no reason
Why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.

Search the Seas depth but not find
The hid paths in womans mind,
The obscure waies of her will,
Constant in inconstant ill;
Measure to all else is common,
There's no Labirynth but a woman.

Pitty Patty Polt!
Shoe the wild colt,
Here a nail,
There a nail,
Pitty Patty Polt!

Pitter-patter, hear it raining?
Slow at first, then faster, faster.
Put on your raincoat,
Hold up your umbrella,
Pull on your Wellingtons
And splash in the puddles.

Patience ! coy songsters of the Delphic wood,
The brightest sun tempts forth the viper brood;
And, of all insects buds and blooms enclose,
The one that stinks the most infests the rose.

Parrots have richly color'd wings,
Not so the sweetest bird that sings;
Not so the lonely plaintive dove;
In sadder stole she mourns her love,
And every Muse in every tongue
Has heard and prais'd her nightly song.

Our youth was happy: why repine
That, like the Year's, Life's days decline?
'Tis well to mingle with the mould
When we ourselves alike are cold,
And when the only tears we shed
Are of the dying on the dead.