On with the dance! let joy be unconfin'd No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the Glowing Hours with Flying feet

And angling too, that solitary vice, What Izaak Walton sings or says: The quaint, old, cruel coxcomb, in his gullet Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it.

A man of eighty has outlived probably three new schools of painting, two of architecture and poetry and a hundred in dress.

I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law.

They never fail who die in a great cause.

Romances I ne'er read like those I have seen.

Let no man grumble when his friends fall off, As they will do like leaves at the first breeze; When your affairs come round, one way or t'other, Go to the coffee house, and take another.