Nor Waste Their Sweetness In

Old Age, A Second Child, By Nature Curst With More And Greater Evils Than The First, Weak, Sickly, Full Of Pains: In Ev'ry Breath Railing At Life, And Yet Afraid Of Death.

He Mouths A Sentence As Curs Mouth A Bone.

Those Who Would Make Us Feel Must Feel Themselves.

With That Malignant Envy Which Turns Pale, And Sickens, Even If A Friend Prevail.

Whom Drink Made Wits, Though Nature Made Them Fools.