A prince indebted is a fortune made.

But love, like wine, gives a tumultuous bliss, Heighten'd indeed beyond all mortal pleasures; But mingles pangs and madness in the bowl.

We see time's furrows on another's brow, And death intrench'd, preparing his assault; How few themselves in that just mirror see!

And all may do what has by man been done.

Friendship's the wine of life: but friendship new... is neither strong nor pure.

The spider's most attenuated thread Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie On earthly bliss; it breaks at every breeze.

Truth never was indebted to a lie