< Page:Poems (IA poemstennalfr00tennrich).pdf
Yet never did there meet my sight,
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TO CHRISTOPHER NORTH.
153
iii.
In any town, to left or right,
A little room so exquisite,
With two such couches, soft and white;
Not any room so warm and bright,
Wherein to read, wherein to write.
TO CHRISTOPHER NORTH.
You did late review my lays,
Crusty Christopher;
You did mingle blame and praise,
Rusty Christopher.
When I learnt from whom it came,
I forgave you all the blame,
Musty Christopher;
I could not forgive the praise,
Fusty Christopher.
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