Follow love and it will flee, flee love and it will follow thee.— John Gay
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Cowards are cruel, but the brave love mercy and delight to save.
Lions, wolves, and vultures don't live together in herds, droves or flocks.
Of all animals of prey, man is the only sociable one. Every one of us preys upon his neighbor, and yet we herd together.
I hate the man who builds his name On ruins of another's fame.
Thus prudes, by characters o'erthrown, Imagine that they raise their own. Thus Scribblers, covetous of praise, Think slander can transplant the bays.
I know you lawyers can with ease, Twist words and meanings as you please;
That language, by your skill made pliant, Will bend to favour every client; That 'tis the fee directs the sense, To make out either side's pretense.
We only part to meet again.
Shadow owes its birth to light.
Fools may our scorn, not envy, raise. For envy is a kind of praise.
Those who in quarrels interpose, must often wipe a bloody nose.
Fair is the kingcup that in meadow blows, Fair is the daisy that beside her grows.
Fair words cost nothing.
A Wolf eats sheep but now and then; Ten thousands are devour'd by men. An open foe may prove a curse, but a pretend friend is worse.
Were I laid on Greenland's Coast, And in my Arms embrac'd my Lass;
Warm amidst eternal Frost, Too soon the Half Year's Night would pass.
Why is the hearse with scutcheons blazon'd round, And with the nodding plume of ostrich crown'd? No; the dead know it not, nor profit gain; It only serves to prove the living vain.
Cowards are cruel, but the brave Love mercy, and delight to save.
If the heart of a man is depressed with cares, The mist is dispelled when a woman appears.
But his kiss was so sweet, and so closely he pressed, that I languished and pined till I granted the rest.
To frame the little animal, provide All the gay hues that wait on female pride: Let Nature guide thee; sometimes golden wire The shining bellies of the fly require; The peacock's plumes thy tackle must not fail, Nor the dear purchase of the sable's tail.
Some folks of cider make a rout And cider's well enough no doubt When better liquors fail; But wine, that's richer, better still, Ev'n wine itself (deny't who will) Must yield to nappy ale
There is no dependence that can be sure but a dependence upon one's self.
Gamesters and highwaymen are generally very good to their whores, but they are very devils to their wives.
Lest men suspect your tale untrue, Keep probability in view.
O Polly, you might have toyed and kissed, by keeping men off, you keep them on.
No retreat. No retreat. They must conquer or die who've no retreat.
Fill it up. I take as large draughts of liquor as I did of love. I hate a flincher in either.
Can you support the expense of a husband, hussy, in gaming, drinking and whoring? Have you money enough to carry on the daily quarrels of man and wife about who shall squander most?
An open foe may prove a curse, but a pretended friend is worse.
How happy could I be with either, Were t'other dear charmer away!
What frenzy dictates, jealousy believes
Music might tame and civilize wild beasts, but 'tis evident it never yet could tame and civilize musicians.
Of all mechanics, of all servile handycrafts-men, a gamester is the vilest.
But yet, as many of the quality are of the profession, he is admitted amongst the politest company.
The comfortable estate of widowhood is the only hope that keeps up a wife's spirits.
Envy's a sharper spur than pay: No author ever spar'd a brother; Wits are gamecocks to one another.
'T is woman that seduces all mankind; By her we first were taught the wheedling arts.
Sure men were born to lie, and women to believe them!
The brave love mercy, and delight to save.
I must have women -- there is nothing unbends the mind like them.
From kings to cobblers 'tis the same; Bad servants wound their masters' fame.
By outward show let's not be cheated; An ass should like an ass be treated.
A rich rogue nowadays is fit company for any gentleman;
and the world, my dear, hath not such a contempt for roguery as you imagine.
The charge is prepared; the lawyers are met; The judges all ranged (a terrible show!) I go, undismay'd. For death is a debt, A debt on demand. So take what I owe.
Envy's a sharper spur than pay.
One common fate we both must prove; You die with envy, I with love.
The luxury of doing good surpasses every other personal enjoyment.
Look round, the wrecks of play behold;
Estates dismember'd, mortgaged, sold! Their owners now to jails confin'd, Show equal poverty of mind.
What will not luxury taste? Earth, sea, and air, Are daily ransack'd for the bill of fare. Blood stuffed in skins is British Christians' food, And France robs marshes of the croaking brood.
Who hath not heard the rich complain Of surfeits, and corporeal pain? He barr'd from every use of wealth, Envies the ploughman's strength and health.
Shall ignorance of good and ill Dare to direct the eternal will? Seek virtue, and of that possest, To Providence resign the rest.
A fox may steal your hens, Sir, a whore your health and pence, Sir, your daughter rob your chest, Sir, your wife may steal your rest, Sir, a thief your goods and plate. But this is all but picking, with rest, pence, chest and chicken; it ever was decreed, Sir, if lawyer's hand is feed, Sir, he steals your whole estate.
What then in love can woman do? If we grow fond they shun us.
And when we fly them, they pursue: But leave us when they've won us.