Polite diseases make some idiots vain, Which, if unfortunately well, they feign.

If we did but know how little some enjoy of the great things that they possess, there would not be much envy in the world.

Be wise to-day; 't is madness to defer.

And friend received with thumps upon the back.

Insatiate archer! could not one suffice? Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain; And thrice, ere thrice yon moon had filled her horn.

The blood will follow where the knife is driven, The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear.

A strange alternative * * *Must women have a doctor or a dance?