Envy's A Sharper Spur Than Pay.

Do You Think Your Mother And I Should Have Lived Comfortably So Long Together, If Ever We Had Been Married? Baggage!

My Lodging Is On The Cold Ground, And Hard, Very Hard, Is My Fare, But That Which Grieves Me More Is The Coldness Of My Dear.

In Every Age And Clime We See Two Of A Trade Can Never Agree.

Why Is The Hearse With Scutcheons Blazon'd Round, And With The Nodding Plume Of Ostrich Crown'd? No; The Dead Know It Not, Nor Profit Gain; It Only Serves To Prove The Living Vain.

Variety's The Source Of Joy Below, From Whence Still Fresh-revolving Pleasures Flow, In Books And Love The Mind One End Pursues, And Only Change The Expiring Flames Renews.