Envy's a sharper spur than pay: No author ever spar'd a brother; Wits are gamecocks to one another.

Gamesters and highwaymen are generally very good to their whores, but they are very devils to their wives.

Who hath not heard the rich complain Of surfeits, and corporeal pain? He barr'd from every use of wealth, Envies the ploughman's strength and health.

No author ever spar'd a brother.

Were I laid on Greenland's Coast, And in my Arms embrac'd my Lass; Warm amidst eternal Frost, Too soon the Half Year's Night would pass.

My lodging is on the cold ground, And hard, very hard, is my fare, But that which grieves me more Is the coldness of my dear.

To friendship every burden's light.