Byron—Giuseppino.
17. Books! out upon them; faithless chroniclers
Mere wordy counsellors—cold comforters
In the hour of sorrow.
Lady Flora Hastings.
18. Your curse upon the venom'd slang
That shoots your tortured gums alang,
An' through your lugs gies mony a twang,
Wi' gnawing vengeance;
Tearing your nerves wi' bitter pang,