Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days Have led their children through the mirthful maze, And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore, Has frisk'd beneath the burden of threescore.

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay.

Aromatic plants bestow no spicy fragrance while they grow; but crush'd or trodden to the ground, diffuse their balmy sweets around.

Surely the best way to meet the enemy is head on in the field and not wait till they plunder our very homes.

He makes a very handsome corpse and becomes his coffin prodigiously.

Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies.

We seldom speak of the virtue which we have, but much oftener of that which we lack.