Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand

Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand

Honor is a public enemy, and conscience a domestic, and he that would secure his pleasure, must pay a tribute to one and go halves with t'other.

Turn pimp, flatterer, quack, lawyer, parson, be chaplain to an atheist, or stallion to an old woman, anything but a poet; for a poet is worse, more servile, timorous and fawning than any I have named.

Blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, and though a late, a sure reward succeeds.

Marriage indeed may qualify the fury of his passion, but it very rarely mends a man's manners.

Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast...