Gods, that never change their state, vary oft their love and hate.

All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.

All things but one you can restore; the heart you get returns no more.

Give us enough but with a sparing hand.

Others may use the ocean as their road; Only the English make it their abode.

Virtue's a stronger guard than brass.

So must the writer, whose productions should Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould.