Related quotes: Should you employ your Ridicule,...

Verses sent to a Lady, Who Took Delight In Ridiculing A Person

Should you employ your Ridicule,
On those who Pity claim?
Think, Birtha, is the native Fool
For Wit a proper Theme?

On Vice your hum'rous Vein display;
'Tis meritorious there;
Or tow'ring Vanity allay;
But, O! Misfortune spare.

With Wisdom who endows the Brain,
To thy Remembrance call;
Nor, while the Wretched you sustain,
Tincture their Cup with Gall.

poem by Mary Barber
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pity The Fool

I pity the fool
Yeah, I pity the fool
That falls in love with you
And expects you to be true
Thats why I pity that fool
Chorus:
look at the people
i know you wonder what theyre doing
theyre just standing there
watching you make a fool of me
(repeat chorus)
Oh, I pity the fool
Yeah, I pity the fool
Hey, I pity the fool
I pity the fool that falls in love with you
Hell break your heart one day
And hell laugh and go on his way
Thats why I pity that fool
(repeat chorus)
I pity the fool...
I pity the fool that gives her heart to you
Hell take her heart away
And hell find another fool to play
Thats why I pity that fool
(repeat chorus)

song performed by by Cyndi Lauper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stella's Birthday March 13, 1727

This day, whate'er the Fates decree,
Shall still be kept with joy by me:
This day then let us not be told,
That you are sick, and I grown old;
Nor think on our approaching ills,
And talk of spectacles and pills.
To-morrow will be time enough
To hear such mortifying stuff.
Yet, since from reason may be brought
A better and more pleasing thought,
Which can, in spite of all decays,
Support a few remaining days:
From not the gravest of divines
Accept for once some serious lines.

Although we now can form no more
Long schemes of life, as heretofore;
Yet you, while time is running fast,
Can look with joy on what is past.

Were future happiness and pain
A mere contrivance of the brain,
As atheists argue, to entice
And fit their proselytes for vice;
(The only comfort they propose,
To have companions in their woes;)
Grant this the case; yet sure 'tis hard
That virtue, styl'd its own reward,
And by all sages understood
To be the chief of human good,
Should, acting, die, nor leave behind
Some lasting pleasure in the mind;
Which by remembrance will assuage
Grief, sickness, poverty, and age;
And strongly shoot a radiant dart
To shine through life's declining part.

Say, Stella, feel you no content,
Reflecting on a life well spent?
Your skilful hand employ'd to save
Despairing wretches from the grave;
And then supporting with your store
Those whom you dragg'd from death before?
So Providence on mortals waits,
Preserving what it first creates.
Your gen'rous boldness to defend
An innocent and absent friend;
That courage which can make you just
To merit humbled in the dust;
The detestation you express
For vice in all its glitt'ring dress;
That patience under torturing pain,
Where stubborn stoics would complain:
Must these like empty shadows pass,
Or forms reflected from a glass?
Or mere chimæras in the mind,
That fly, and leave no marks behind?
Does not the body thrive and grow
By food of twenty years ago?
And, had it not been still supplied,
It must a thousand times have died.
Then who with reason can maintain
That no effects of food remain?
And is not virtue in mankind
The nutriment that feeds the mind;
Upheld by each good action past,
And still continued by the last?
Then, who with reason can pretend
That all effects of virtue end?

Believe me, Stella, when you show
That true contempt for things below,
Nor prize your life for other ends,
Than merely to oblige your friends;
Your former actions claim their part,
And join to fortify your heart.
For Virtue, in her daily race,
Like Janus, bears a double face;
Looks back with joy where she has gone
And therefore goes with courage on:
She at your sickly couch will wait,
And guide you to a better state.

O then, whatever Heav'n intends,
Take pity on your pitying friends!
Nor let your ills affect your mind,
To fancy they can be unkind.
Me, surely me, you ought to spare,
Who gladly would your suff'rings share;
Or give my scrap of life to you,
And think it far beneath your due;
You, to whose care so oft I owe
That I'm alive to tell you so.

poem by Jonathan Swift
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stella's Birthday March 13, 1727

This day, whate'er the Fates decree,
Shall still be kept with joy by me:
This day then let us not be told,
That you are sick, and I grown old;
Nor think on our approaching ills,
And talk of spectacles and pills.
To-morrow will be time enough
To hear such mortifying stuff.
Yet, since from reason may be brought
A better and more pleasing thought,
Which can, in spite of all decays,
Support a few remaining days:
From not the gravest of divines
Accept for once some serious lines.

Although we now can form no more
Long schemes of life, as heretofore;
Yet you, while time is running fast,
Can look with joy on what is past.

Were future happiness and pain
A mere contrivance of the brain,
As atheists argue, to entice
And fit their proselytes for vice;
(The only comfort they propose,
To have companions in their woes;)
Grant this the case; yet sure 'tis hard
That virtue, styl'd its own reward,
And by all sages understood
To be the chief of human good,
Should, acting, die, nor leave behind
Some lasting pleasure in the mind;
Which by remembrance will assuage
Grief, sickness, poverty, and age;
And strongly shoot a radiant dart
To shine through life's declining part.

Say, Stella, feel you no content,
Reflecting on a life well spent?
Your skilful hand employ'd to save
Despairing wretches from the grave;
And then supporting with your store
Those whom you dragg'd from death before?
So Providence on mortals waits,
Preserving what it first creates.
Your gen'rous boldness to defend
An innocent and absent friend;
That courage which can make you just
To merit humbled in the dust;
The detestation you express
For vice in all its glitt'ring dress;
That patience under torturing pain,
Where stubborn stoics would complain:
Must these like empty shadows pass,
Or forms reflected from a glass?
Or mere chimæras in the mind,
That fly, and leave no marks behind?
Does not the body thrive and grow
By food of twenty years ago?
And, had it not been still supplied,
It must a thousand times have died.
Then who with reason can maintain
That no effects of food remain?
And is not virtue in mankind
The nutriment that feeds the mind;
Upheld by each good action past,
And still continued by the last?
Then, who with reason can pretend
That all effects of virtue end?

Believe me, Stella, when you show
That true contempt for things below,
Nor prize your life for other ends,
Than merely to oblige your friends;
Your former actions claim their part,
And join to fortify your heart.
For Virtue, in her daily race,
Like Janus, bears a double face;
Looks back with joy where she has gone
And therefore goes with courage on:
She at your sickly couch will wait,
And guide you to a better state.

O then, whatever Heav'n intends,
Take pity on your pitying friends!
Nor let your ills affect your mind,
To fancy they can be unkind.
Me, surely me, you ought to spare,
Who gladly would your suff'rings share;
Or give my scrap of life to you,
And think it far beneath your due;
You, to whose care so oft I owe
That I'm alive to tell you so.

poem by Jonathan Swift
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Her Grace The Dutchess Of Portland

'Tis theirs, who but to please aspire,
On Fiction to employ the Lyre;
Make Gods and Goddesses display
The Splendor of the Nuptial Day.

To paint thee at the hallow'd Shrine,
A solemn, glorious Scene! be Mine;
Now lightly touch'd--Some other Hour,
(If e'er the Cloud--dispelling Pow'r
Remove the Damps, that chill my Vein)
I'll trace the slight--drawn Lines again;
Warm Col'ring on the Piece bestow,
Till Life shall from the Pencil flow.

Lovely Bride! with Bliss be crown'd,
Diffusing Happiness around:
Beneficent, like Harley, shine;
Like Henrietta, grace your Line.

poem by Mary Barber
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fame, wisdom, love, and power were mine

(All is vanity, saith the preacher)

I
Fame, wisdom, love, and power were mine,
And health and youth possess'd me;
My goblets blush'd from every vine,
And lovely forms caress'd me;
I sunn'd my heart in beauty's eyes,
And felt my soul grow tender;
All earth can give, or mortal prize,
Was mine of regal splendour.

II
I strive to number o'er what days
Remembrance can discover,
Which all that life or earth displays
Would lure me to live over.
There rose no day, there roll'd no hour
Of pleasure unembitter'd:
And not a trapping deck'd my power
That gall'd not while it glitter'd.

III
The serpent of the field, by art
And spells, is won from harming;
But that which coils around the heart,
Oh! who hath power of charming?
It will not list to wisdom's lore,
Nor music's voice can lure it;
But there it stings for evermore
The soul that must endure it.

poem by Byron from The Hebrew Melodies (1815)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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From The Ladies Defence

Melissa: I've still rever'd your Order [she is responding to a Parson] as Divine;
And when I see unblemish'd Virtue shine,
When solid Learning, and substantial Sense,
Are joyn'd with unaffected Eloquence;
When Lives and Doctrices of a Piece are made,
And holy Truths with humble Zeal convey'd;
When free from Passion, Bigottry, and Pride,
Not sway'd by Int'rest, nor to Parties ty'd,
Contemning Riches, and abhorring strife,
And shunning all the noisy Pomps of Life,
You live the aweful Wonders of your time,
Without the least Suspicion of a Crime:
I shall with Joy the highest Deference pay,
and heedfully attend to all you say.
From such, Reproofs shall always welcome prove,
As being th' Effects of Piety and Love.
But those from me can challenge no Respect,
Who on us all without just Cause reflect:
Who without Mercy all the Sex decry,
And into open Defamations fly:
Who think us Creatures for Derision made,
And the Creator with his Works upbraid:
What he call'd good, they proudly think not so,
And with their Malice, their Prophaneness show.
'Tis hard we shou'd be by the Men despis'd,
Yet kept from knowing what wou'd make us priz'd:
Debarr'd from Knowledge, banish'd from the Schools,
And with the utmost Industry bred Fools.
Laugh'd out of Reason, jested out of Sense,
And nothing left but Native Innocence:
Then told we are incapable of Wit,
And only for the meanest Drudgeries fit:
Made Slaves to serve their Luxury and Pride,
And with innumerable Hardships try'd,
'Till Pitying Heav'n release us from our Pain,
Kind Heav'n to whom alone we dare complain.
Th' ill-natur'd World will no Compassion show;
Such as are wretched, it wou'd still have so:
It gratifies its Envy and its Spight;
The most in others Miseries take Delight.
While we are present they some Pity spare,
And feast us on a thin Repast of Air:
Look Grave and Sigh, when we our Wrongs relate,
An in a Compliment accuse our Fate:
Blame those to whom we our Misfortunes owe,
And all the Signs of real Friendship show.
But when we're absent, we their Sport are made,
They fan the Flame, and our Oppressors aid;
Joyn with the Stronger, the Victorious Side,
And all our Suff'ring, all our griefs deride.
Those gen'rous few, whom kinder Thoughts inspire,
And who the Happiness of all desire;
Who wish we were from barb'rous Usage free,
Exempt from Toils, and shameful Slavery,
Yet let us, unreprov'd, mis. spend our Hours,
And to mean Purposes employ our nobler Pow'rs.
They think, if we our Thoughts can but express,
And know but how to Work, to Dance and Dress,
It is enough, as much as we shou'd mind,
As if we were for nothing else design'd,
But made, like Puppets, to divert Mankind.
O that my Sex wou'd all such Toys despise;
And only study to be Good, and Wise;
Inspect themselves, and every Blemish find,
Search all the close Recesses of the Mind,
And leave no vice, no ruling Passion there,
Nothing to raise a Blush, or cause a Fear:
Their Memories with solid Notions fill,
And let their Reason dictate to their Will,
Instead of Novels, Histories peruse,
And for their Guides the wiser Ancients chuse,
Thro' all the Labyrinths of Learning go,
And grow more humble, as they more do know.
By doing this, they will Respect procure,
Silence the Men, and lasting Fame secure;
And to themselves the best Companions prove,
And neither fear their Malice, nor desire their Love.

poem by Lady Mary Chudleigh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Pity The Fool

Well, I pity the fool
I said I pity the fool
You know I pity the fool
I said I pity the fool
Shell break your heart one day
Then shell laugh if she walks away
Yeah, I pity the fool
Well, look at the people
Guess you wonder what to do
Theyre just standing there
Watching you making a fool out of me
Ah, look at the people
Bet you wonder what to do
Well, theyre just standing watching you making a fool out of me
Yeah, I pity the fool
I said I pity the fool
Ooh, I pity the fool
Well, I said I pity the fool
Shell break your heart one day
Then shell laugh as you walk away
Well, I pity the fool
Well, look at the people
Guess you wonder what to do
Theyre just standing there
Watching you making a fool out of me
Yeah, look at the people
Bet you wonder what to do
Theyre just standing
Watching you making a fool out of me
I pity the fool
I pity the fool that falls in love with you
Oh, I pity the fool
I pity the fool

song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I've Done That

You wanted me to notice you,
And I've done that.
You wanted me to play your fool,
And I've done that.
You wanted me to ridicule.
And I've done that.
You wanted me to sit,
For nibbles and bits.

But I wont,
Beg from you at all.
And I wont,
Roll over or crawl.
And if I don't,
Play your favorite pet to fetch...
Know that I've left with no regrets,
And a respect...
You never gave me.

You wanted me to notice you,
And I've done that.
You wanted me to play your fool,
And I've done that.
You wanted me to ridicule.
And I've done that.
And when I leave,
You're gonna miss me.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ring Ring

I was sitting by the phone
I was waiting all alone
Baby by myself I sit and wait and wonder about you
Its a dark and dreary night
Seems like nothings going right
Wont you tell me honey how can I go on here without you?
Yes Im down and feeling blue
And I dont know what to do, oh-oh
Ring, ring, why dont you give me a call?
Ring, ring, the happiest sound of them all
Ring, ring, I stare at the phone on the wall
And I sit all alone impatiently
Wont you please understand the need in me
So, ring, ring, why dont you give me a call?
So, ring, ring, why dont you give me a call?
You were here and now youre gone
Hey did I do something wrong?
I just cant believe that I could be so badly mistaken
Was it me or was it you?
Tell me, are we really through?
Wont you hear me cry and you will know that my heart is breaking
Please forgive and then forget
Or maybe darling better yet, oh-oh
Ring, ring, why dont you give me a call?
Ring, ring, the happiest sound of them all
Ring, ring, I stare at the phone on the wall
And I sit all alone impatiently
Wont you please understand the need in me
So, ring, ring, why dont you give me a call?
So, ring, ring, why dont you give me a call?
Oh-oh, ring, ring, why dont you give me a call?
So, ring, ring, why dont you give me a call?

song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don’t Pity Me

I can stand on my own two feet
Spare me the reminder that I came from those lonely streets
Which made me cold as I grew old
Don’t pity me, no don’t pity me at all
I did what was necessary to survive
Build my dreams on hard concrete
Fed myself dust until I couldn’t eat
Why pity me, why pity me at all
Now that I am full, I can use the energy
To do what you could have done
Saved me instead of feeling sorry
Because you pity me, and you pity me until I was no more
So the next time you look down and see me
Remember this, it could have been you not me.

poem by Landsley Alexandre
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Don't Dip Yo Pity Here To Sit

Don't dip yo pity here to sit.
No permitted pity here can visit.
Don't dip yo pity here to sit.
No permitted pity here can visit.

When you tire of your weeping...
You can call on me.
But don't dip yo pity in a pit!
To leave it here to sit.