The Patriarch. "I don't believe this 'ere about tellin' a man's character just by lookin' at 'is face. It ain't possible."
DE MORTUIS NIL NISI BONUM.
Lines dedicated to the outraged memory of Keats.
[Two pretty poor sonnets by Keats have been exposed by a Mr. Horner and exploited in facsimile, twice over in one week, by The Times. In its Literary Supplement, where they made their second appearance, we are told with cynical candour that "afterwards, when he had become ashamed of his crowning" (the foolish episode which is the subject of these two sonnets) Keats "kept them from publication; and Reynolds" (the friend to whom he confided them), "knowing the story, respected his feelings after his death.">[
What is there in the poet's human lot
Most beastly loathsome? Haply you will say
An influenza in the prime of May?
Or haply, nosed in some suburban plot,