Wonder is involuntary praise.
When men of infamy to grandeur soar, They light a torch to show their shame the more.
Groan under gold, yet weep for want of bread.
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.
When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.
Truth never was indebted to a lie