The Fly That Sips Treacle

Envy's A Sharper Spur Than Pay.

The Sun Was Set; The Night Came On Apace, And Falling Dews Bewet Around The Place; The Bat Takes Airy Rounds On Leathern Wings, And The Hoarse Owl His Woeful Dirges Sings.

Breathe Soft, Ye Winds! Ye Waves, In Silence Sleep!

Fools May Our Scorn, Not Envy, Raise. For Envy Is A Kind Of Praise.

Gamesters And Highwaymen Are Generally Very Good To Their Whores, But They Are Very Devils To Their Wives.