Variety's the source of joy below, From whence still fresh-revolving pleasures flow, In books and love the mind one end pursues, And only change the expiring flames renews.
I must have women - there is nothing unbends the mind like them.
Sure men were born to lie, and women to believe them!
Envy's a sharper spur than pay: No author ever spar'd a brother; Wits are gamecocks to one another.
Praising all alike, is praising none.
One common fate we both must prove; You die with envy, I with love.