She, though in full-blown flower of glorious beauty, Grows cold even in the summer of her age.
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.
Lucky men are favorites of Heaven.
All heiresses are beautiful.
Riches cannot rescue from the grave, which claims alike the monarch and the slave.