When we risk no contradiction, It prompts the tongue to deal in fiction.
Envy's a sharper spur than pay: No author ever spar'd a brother; Wits are gamecocks to one another.
Cowards are cruel, but the brave love mercy and delight to save.
The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets.
I must have women - there is nothing unbends the mind like them.
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.