Praising all alike, is praising none.
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.
In love we are all fools alike.
O Polly, you might have toyed and kissed, by keeping men off, you keep them on.
To cheat a man isnothing; but the womanmust have fine parts indeed who cheats a woman!
If with me you'd fondly stray Over the hills and far away.