No tribute is laid on castles in the air.
He mouths a sentence as curs mouth a bone.
Ourselves are to ourselves the cause of ill.
England a fortune-telling host, As num'rous as the stars, could boast; Matrons, who toss the cup, and see The grounds of Fate in grounds of tea.
He hurts me most who lavishly commends.
The laws I love; the lawyers I suspect.