0 summer friendship, whose flat-tering leaves shadowed us in our prosperity, With the least gust, drop off in the autumn of adversity.
Gold--the picklock that never fails.
He that doth public good for multitudes, finds few are truly grateful
Revenge, that thirsty dropsy of our souls, makes us covet that which hurts us most.
What pity 'tis, one that can speak so well, Should in his actions be so ill!
To doubt is worse than to have lost; And to despair is but to antedate those miseries that must fall on us.