Ever a glutton, at another's cost, But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost.

We by art unteach what Nature taught.

Drinking is the soldier's pleasure.

All objects lose by too familiar a view.

Her wit was more than man, her innocence a child.

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

But love's a malady without a cure.