As in smooth oil the razor best is whet, So wit is by politeness sharpest set; Their want of edge from their offence is seen, Both pain us least when exquisitely keen.

With fame, in just proportion, envy grows.

[The] public path of life Is dirty.

Titles are marks of honest men, and wise; The fool or knave that wears a title lies.

But fate ordains that dearest friends must part.

A tardy vengeance shares the tyrant's guilt.

The house of laughter makes a house of woe.