What will not luxury taste? Earth, sea, and air, Are daily ransack'd for the bill of fare. Blood stuffed in skins is British Christians' food, And France robs marshes of the croaking brood.

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.

To shoot at crows is powder flung away.

No retreat. No retreat. They must conquer or die who've no retreat.

Shall ignorance of good and ill Dare to direct the eternal will? Seek virtue, and of that possest, To Providence resign the rest.

Gamesters and highwaymen are generally very good to their whores, but they are very devils to their wives.

What frenzy dictates, jealousy believes