Poems with rhymes of spill

A son called Frolic, who was never still:
Alas! how often dark succeeds to bright!
Delight was thrown, and Frolic had a spill,

Are ball-rooms fittest for the ink you spill?
Was there no other cheaper house to seek?
You might have left them all at Strawberry Hill.

Ne spight it selfe that all good things doth spill,
Found ought in him, that she could say was ill.

Their left-hand general had nae skill;
The Angus lads had nae good will
That day their neebors' bluid to spill;

A satellite of Soapy Smith, a capper and a shill,
A slimy tribute-taker from the Ladies on the Loose.
But say, you never heard of how he aimed my gore to spill

Your flying wings may smite, but they can never spill
The cup fulfilled of love, from which my lips are wet;
My heart has far more fire than you can frost to chill,

By Mahound, lords, I have good will
This devil’s bird to wring and spill;

And then I pause and gaze my fill
Where cataracts of traffic spill

Comes down, an' fools as stacks uv beans to spill,
Why, 'umin nacher's 'urnin nacher still.

I will not fall upon my pointed quill,
Bleed ink and Poems, or invention spill

Two foaming tankards over-spill,
And soon, ah! not too soon, they will

O'er the lot; and swifter still
Than they cull, the wealth they spill.

Whee combers lean and spill,
And though I taste the foam no more
Other swimmers will.

They hope to see no meadow, vale, or hill
Stained with a deeper red than roses spill,

within her cage, but singes and feeds her fill.
There pride dare not approch, nor discord spill

His gore he glorified to spill,
And so in every battlefield
A hero in my eyes was Bill.

Or if he stay to heed them, still
But as the lark the lights that spill

And knew it must spill
A passionate heart out
All over the hill.

To give himself courage to rob and kill,
And innocent people's blood to spill.

The harsh, cold wind of my words drove on, and still
I watched the tears on the guilty cheek of the boys
Glitter and spill.