English poem
NUMBER IV. On a certain writer, who was fond of maggotty Cheese, who frequently observed that nothing was lost
by Charles Prentiss (1774–1820)
THERE's nothing lost, eat with your cheese, As many maggots as you please: They'll all crawl upward to your brain, And in your works appear again.
More by Charles Prentiss
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- Lines on Chatterton
- NUMBER I. On the necessary combination of genius and science in composition
- NUMBER III. On my old BOOTS
- NUMBER IX. On CHESTERFIELD
- NUMBER V. On MILTON and POPE
- NUMBER VI. On LIFE and DEATH
- NUMBER X. On PETER PINDAR