She thought of her own strength, and Juan's youth, And of the folly of all prudish fears, Victorious virtue, and domestic truth, And then of Don Alfo… - Lord Byron

"When people say, "I've told you fifty times," / They mean to scold, and very often do; / When poets say, "I've written fifty rhymes," / They make you dread that they 'II recite them too;
In gangs of fifty, thieves commit their crimes; / At fifty love for love is rare, 't is true, / But then, no doubt, it equally as true is, / A good deal may be bought for fifty Louis."

When people say, 'I've told you fifty times',
They mean to scold, and very often do;
When poets say, 'I've written fifty rhymes',
They make you dread that they'll recite them too

When people say, 'I've told you fifty times,' They mean to scold, and very often do; When poets say, 'I've written fifty rhymes,' They make you dread that they 'll recite them too; In gangs of fifty, thieves commit their crimes; At fifty love for love is rare, 't is true, But then, no doubt, it equally as true is, A good deal may be bought for fifty Louis.

I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse — borne away with every breath! Misplaced upon the throne — misplaced in life. I know not what I could have been, but feel I am not what I should be — let it end.

She loved her lord or thought so, but that love Cost her an effort, which is a sad toil, The stone of Sisyphus, if once we move Our feelings ‘gainst the nature of the soil. She had nothing to complain of or reprove, No bickerings, no connubial turmoil; Their union was a model to behold, Serene and noble, conjugal, but cold.

To be thus—
Grey-hair'd with anguish, like these blasted pines,
Wrecks of a single winter, barkless, branchless,
A blighted trunk upon a cursed root,
Which but supplies a feeling to decay—
And to be thus, eternally but thus,
Having been otherwise! Now furrow'd o'er
With wrinkles, plough'd by moments, not by years
And hours—all tortured into ages—hours
Which I outlive!—Ye toppling crags of ice!
Ye avalanches, whom a breath draws down
In mountainous o'erwhelming, come and crush me!
I hear ye momently above, beneath,
Crash with a frequent conflict; but ye pass,
And only fall on things that still would live.