I've known my lady (for she loves a tune) For fevers take an opera in June: And, though perhaps you'll think the practice bold, A midnight park is sov'reign for a cold.

The man who builds, and wants wherewith to pay, Provides a home from which to run away.

In an active life is sown the seed of wisdom; but he who reflects not, never reaps; has no harvest from it, but carries the burden of age without the wages of experience; nor knows himself old, but from his infirmities, the parish register, and the contempt of mankind. And age, if it has not esteem, has nothing.

Thy purpose firm is equal to the deed: Who does the best his circumstance allows Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more.

Nothing but what astonishes is true.

Day buries day; month, month; and year the year: Our life is but a chain of many deaths.

Who can take Death's portrait? The tyrant never sat.