Fools may our scorn, not envy, raise. For envy is a kind of praise.
[Gulliver was soon being read] "from the cabinet council to the nursery".
So comes a reck'ning when the banquet's o'er, The dreadful reckn'ning, and men smile no more.
A woman's friendship ever ends in love.
Why is the hearse with scutcheons blazon'd round, And with the nodding plume of ostrich crown'd? No; the dead know it not, nor profit gain; It only serves to prove the living vain.
Twas when the seas were roaring With hollow blasts of wind, A damsel lay deploring, All on a rock reclined.