We must beat the iron while it is hot, but we may polish it at leisure.

For those whom God to ruin has design'd, He fits for fate, and first destroys their mind.

Go miser go, for money sell your soul. Trade wares for wares and trudge from pole to pole, So others may say when you are dead and gone. See what a vast estate he left his son.

If thou dost still retain the same ill habits, the same follies, too, still thou art bound to vice, and still a slave.

Or hast thou known the world so long in vain?

Better to hunt in fields, for health unbought, Than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught, The wise, for cure, on exercise depend; God never made his work for man to mend.

To die is landing on some distant shore.