Sweet and glorious it is to die for our country.
The cook cares not a bit for toil, toil, if the fowl be plump and fat
The wolf dreads the pitfall, the hawk suspects the snare, and the kite the covered hook.
We are deceived by the appearance of right.
Nor has he spent his life badly who has passed it in privacy.
He wins every hand who mingles profit with pleasure.