No retreat. No retreat. They must conquer or die who've no retreat.
No author ever spar'd a brother.
Thus shadow owes its birth to light.
You can only be called a hypocrite if you judge others first.
What happiness the rural maid attends, In cheerful labour while each day she spends! She gratefully receives what Heav'n has sent, And, rich in poverty, enjoys content.
Envy's a sharper spur than pay: No author ever spar'd a brother; Wits are gamecocks to one another.