Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet.
Who talks much, must talk in vain.
Envy's a sharper spur than pay.
So comes a reck'ning when the banquet's o'er, The dreadful reckn'ning, and men smile no more.
Is there no hope? the sick man said, The silent doctor shook his head, And took his leave with signs of sorrow, Despairing of his fee to-morrow.
A man is always afraid of a woman that loves him too much