Poem by Anonymous

Accounts Balanced

Whilst Zoilus, with canker’d spite,   
	My reputation slays,
The way that I his spleen requite, –
	Is loading him with praise.

How oddly happy is my case,
	’Tis easy to conceive,
Since whatsoever either says,
	No mortal can believe.

1. Sir Richard Whittington’s Advancement
2. The Maid of Dunmore
3. Arthur’s Seat
4. The Tummel and the Duck
5. King Cormac’s Crown

Print

1524 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version