How, Like A Moth, The

If The Heart Of A Man Is Depressed With Cares, The Mist Is Dispell'd When A Woman Appears; Like The Notes Of A Fiddle, She Sweetly, Sweetly Raises The Spirits, And Charms Our Ears.

To Shoot At Crows Is Powder Flung Away.

Who Friendship With A Knave Hath Made, Is Judged A Partner In The Trade.

Cowards Are Cruel, But The Brave Love Mercy And Delight To Save.

Envy's A Sharper Spur Than Pay.