But man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.
I am obnoxious to each carping tongue/ Who says my hand a needle better fits./ A poet's pen all scorn I should thus wrong/ For such despite they cast on female wits;/ If what I do prove well, it won't advance,/ They'll say it's stolen, or else, it was by chance.
Sweet words are like honey, a little may refresh, but too much gluts the stomach.
Youth is the time of getting, middle age of improving, and old age of spending.
Some laborers have hard hands, and old sinners have brawny consciences.
A prosperous state makes a secure Christian, but adversity makes him Consider.