Friendship's the wine of life.

Some for renown, on scraps of learning dote, And think they grow immortal as they quote.

On every thorn, delightful wisdom grows, In every rill a sweet instruction flows.

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.

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

Some go to Church, proud humbly to repent, And come back much more guilty than they went: One way they look, another way they steer, Pray to the Gods; but would have Mortals hear; And when their sins they set sincerely down, They'll find that their Religion has been one.

Man makes a death which Nature never made. And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.