« 上一頁繼續 »
Should be most scrupulously weighed
And searched into, before it is Made public, since it may give pain That cannot soon be cured again, And one word may infix a stain
Which ten cannot gloss over, Though speaking for his private part, He is rejoiced with all his heart
Miss Knott missed not her lover.
AN ORIENTAL APOLOGUE.
SOMEWHERE in India, upon a time, (Read it not Injah, or you spoil the verse)
There dwelt two saints whose privilege sublime It was to sit and watch the world grow worse,
Their only care (in that delicious clime)
Pracrit the dialect each prudent brother
One half the time of each was spent in praying For blessings on his own unworthy head,
The other half in fearfully portraying Where certain folks would go when they were
dead; This system of exchanges—there's no saying To what more solid barter 'twould have led,
But that a river, vext with boils and swellings At rainy times, kept peace between their dwell
So they two played at wordy battledore And kept a curse forever in the air,
Flying this way or that from shore to shore;