What frenzy dictates, jealousy believes
In love we are all fools alike.
I hate the man who builds his name On ruins of another's fame. Thus prudes, by characters o'erthrown, Imagine that they raise their own. Thus Scribblers, covetous of praise, Think slander can transplant the bays.
Cowards are cruel, but the brave love mercy and delight to save.
If with me you'd fondly stray Over the hills and far away.
In every age and clime we see Two of a trade can never agree.