Emotions and Feelings

Man may escape from rope and gun; Nay, some have outliv’d the doctor’s pill: Who takes a woman must be undone, That basilisk is sure to kill. The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets, So he that tastes woman, woman, woman, He that tastes woman, ruin meets.

From wine what sudden friendship springs!

From wine what sudden friendship springs!

Those who in quarrels interpose Must often wipe a bloody nose.

I hate the man who builds his name On ruins of another’s fame.

In every age and clime we see Two of a trade can never agree.

Too low they build, who build beneath the stars.

Like our shadows, Our wishes lengthen as our sun declines.

Man wants but little, nor that little long.

Tired nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep!

The love of praise, howe’er conceal’d by art, Reigns more or less, and glows in ev’ry heart.

What pity is it That we can die but once to serve our country!

Curse on his virtues! they’ve undone his country.

My voice is still for war. Gods! can a Roman senate long debate Which of the two to choose, slavery or death?

’Tis not in mortals to command success, But we’ll do more, Sempronius; we’ll deserve it.

Blesses his stars and thinks it luxury.

Blesses his stars and thinks it luxury.

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.

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

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.