By cool Siloam's shady rill / How sweet the lily grows! / How sweet the breath beneath the hill / Of Sharon's dewy rose!

That ornamental excrement that grows beneath the chin

Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.

Spare your breath to cool your porridge.

Murder's out of tune, and sweet revenge grows harsh

From Greenland's icy mountains, / From India's coral strand, / Where Afric's sunny fountains / Roll down their golden sand.