No author ever spar'd a brother.

Fill it up. I take as large draughts of liquor as I did of love. I hate a flincher in either.

Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil O'er books consumed the midnight oil?

In love we are all fools alike.

Look round, the wrecks of play behold; Estates dismember'd, mortgaged, sold! Their owners now to jails confin'd, Show equal poverty of mind.

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

I know you lawyers can with ease, Twist words and meanings as you please; That language, by your skill made pliant, Will bend to favour every client; That 'tis the fee directs the sense, To make out either side's pretense.