Take God from nature, nothing great is left.
The man that blushes is not quite a brute.
As soon as we have found the key of life, it opens the gates of death.
A foe to God ne'er was true friend to man, Some sinister intent taints all he does.
The qualities all in a bee that we meet, In an epigram never should fail; The body should always be little and sweet, And a sting should be felt in its tail.
As night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.