The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets.

Envy's a sharper spur than pay: No author ever spar'd a brother; Wits are gamecocks to one another.

When if or chance or hunger's powerful sway Directs the roving trout this fatal way, He greedily sucks in the twining bait, And tugs and nibbles the fallacious meat. Now, happy fisherman; now twitch the line! How thy rod bends! behold, the prize is thine!

Fair is the kingcup that in meadow blows, Fair is the daisy that beside her grows.

Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil O'er books consumed the midnight oil?

So comes a reck'ning when the banquet's o'er, The dreadful reckn'ning, and men smile no more.

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.