Emotions and Feelings

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.

Hail, fellow, well met, All dirty and wet: Find out if you can, Who’s master, who’s man.

Conversation is but carving! Give no more to every guest Than he’s able to digest. Give him always of the prime, And but little at a time. Carve to all but just enough, Let them neither starve nor stuff, And that you may have your due, Let your neighbor carve for you.

So, naturalists observe, a flea Hath smaller fleas that on him prey; And these have smaller still to bite ’em; And so proceed ad infinitum. Thus every poet, in his kind, Is bit by him that comes behind.

Yet malice never was his aim; He lash’d the vice but spar’d the name. No individual could resent, Where thousands equally were meant. His satire points at no defect But what all mortals may correct; For he abhorr’d that senseless tribe Who call it humor when they gibe.

For conversation well endu’d; She calls it witty to be rude; And, placing raillery in railing, Will tell aloud your greatest failing.

A set of phrases learnt by rote; A passion for a scarlet coat; When at a play to laugh, or cry, Yet cannot tell the reason why: Never to hold her tongue a minute; While all she prates has nothing in it.

’Tis an old maxim in the schools, That flattery’s 1 the food of fools; Yet now and then your men of wit Will condescend to take a bit.

Behold his funeral appears, Nor widow’s sighs, nor orphan’s tears, Wont at such times each heart to pierce, Attend the progress of his hearse. And what of that? his friends may say, He had those honors in his day. True to his profit and his pride, He made them weep before he died.

All men would be tyrants if they could.

In their religion they are so uneven, That each man goes his own byway to heaven.

And of all plagues with which mankind are curs’d, Ecclesiastic tyranny’s the worst.

Wherever God erects a house of prayer, The Devil always builds a chapel there; And ’twill be found, upon examination, The latter has the largest congregation.

From this amphibious ill-born mob began That vain, ill-natur’d thing, an Englishman.

She hugg’d the offender, and forgave the offense: Sex to the last. 9

Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.

Sigh’d and look’d, and sigh’d again.

Sigh’d and look’d, and sigh’d again.

Sweet is pleasure after pain.

None but the brave deserves the fair.

Possess your soul with patience.

Much malice mingled with a little wit.

For present joys are more to flesh and blood Than a dull prospect of a distant good.