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George Gordon Byron - Impromptus
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Strahan, Tonson, Lintot of the times,
   Patron and publisher of rhymes,
   For thee the bard up Pindus climbs,
         My Murray.
   To thee, with hope and terror dumb,
   The unfledged MS. authors come;
   Thou printest all-and sellest some-
         My Murray.
   Upon thy table`s baize so green
  The last new Quarterly is seen,-
  But where is thy new Magazine,
        My Murray?

  Along thy sprucest bookshelves shine
  The works thou deemest most divine-
  The "Art of Cookery,"and mine,
        My Murray.

  Tours, Travels, Essays, too, I wist,
  And Sermons, to thy mill bring grist;
  And then thou hast the "Navy List,"
        My Murray.

  And Heaven forbid I should conclude
  Without "the Board of Longitude,"
  Although this narrow paper would,
        My Murray.
    

  When a man hath no freedom to fight for at home,
    Let him combat for that of his neighbours;
  Let him think of the glories of Greece and of Rome,
    And get knock`d on the head for his labours.

  To do good to mankind is the chivalrous plan,
    And is always as nobly requited;
  Then battle for freedom wherever you can,
    And, if not shot or hang`d, you`ll get knighted.
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