George Crabbe

Time has touched me gently in his race, And left no odious furrows in my face.

And took for truth the test of ridicule.

To sigh, yet not recede; to grieve, yet not repent.

He tried the luxury of doing good.

Secrets with girls, like loaded guns with boys, Are never valued till they make a noise.

'T was good advice, and meant, my son, Be good.

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

Better to love amiss than nothing to have loved.

Who calls a lawyer rogue, may find, too late Upon one of these depends his whole estate.

In idle wishes fools supinely stay; Be there a will, and wisdom finds a way.

Books cannot always please, however good; Minds are not ever craving for their food.

In this fool's paradise he drank delight.

Habit with him was all the test of truth, It must be right: I’ve done it from my youth.

The mind here exhibited is one untouched by pity, unstung by remorse, and uncorrected by shame; yet is this hardihood of temper and spirit broken by want, disease, solitude, and disappointment, and he becomes the victim of a distempered …

Her air, her manners, all who saw admir'd; Courteous though coy, and gentle though retir'd; The joy of youth and health her eyes display'd, And ease of heart her every look convey'd.

Oh, rather give me commentators plain, Who with no deep researches vex the brain; Who from the dark and doubtful love to run, And hold their glimmering tapers to the sun.

Our farmers round, well pleased with constant gain, Like other farmers, flourish and complain.

A master passion is the love of news.

The murmuring poor, who will not fast in peace.

Where Plenty smiles - alas! she smiles for few, And those who taste not, yet behold her store, Are as the slaves that dig the golden ore, The wealth around them makes them doubly poor.