Fools may our scorn, not envy, raise. For envy is a kind of praise.

Of all mechanics, of all servile handycrafts-men, a gamester is the vilest. But yet, as many of the quality are of the profession, he is admitted amongst the politest company.

The sun was set; the night came on apace, And falling dews bewet around the place; The bat takes airy rounds on leathern wings, And the hoarse owl his woeful dirges sings.

Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet.

Youth's the season made for joys, Love is then our duty.

Nor love, not honor, wealth nor power, can give the heart a cheerful hour when health is lost. Be timely wise; With health all taste of pleasure flies.

Envy's a sharper spur than pay.