Imitators are but a servile kind of cattle.
To breed up the son to common sense is evermore the parent's least expense.
War is a trade of kings.
Raw in the fields the rude militia swarms, Mouth without hands; maintained at vast expense, In peace a charge, in war a weak defence.
For secrets are edged tools, And must be kept from children and from fools.
He is a perpetual fountain of good sense.