Beasts kill for hunger, men for pay.
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.
Music might tame and civilize wild beasts, but 'tis evident it never yet could tame and civilize musicians.
Sure men were born to lie, and women to believe them!
Envy is a kind of praise.
What will not luxury taste? Earth, sea, and air, Are daily ransack'd for the bill of fare. Blood stuffed in skins is British Christians' food, And France robs marshes of the croaking brood.