Day buries day; month, month; and year the year: Our life is but a chain of many deaths.

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.

Be wise with speed; a fool at forty is a fool indeed.

The spider's most attenuated thread Is cord, is cable, to man's tender tie On earthly bliss; it breaks at every breeze.

The love of praise, howe'er conceal'd by art, Reigns more or less, and glows in ev'ry heart.

A dearth of words a woman need not fear; But 'tis a task indeed to learn to hear: In that the skill of conversation lies; That shows and makes you both polite and wise.

The man of wisdom is the man of years.