How, like a moth, the simple maid Still plays around the flame!

Who friendship with a knave hath made, Is judged a partner in the trade.

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.

Nor love, not honor, wealth nor power, can give the heart a cheerful hour when health is lost. Be timely wise; With health all taste of pleasure flies.

To friendship every burden's light.

Whoever heard a man of fortune in England talk of the necessaries of life? . . . Whether we can afford it or no, we must have superfluities.

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