All Flowers Will Droop In The Absence

Satire Among The Romans, But Not Among The Greeks, Was A Bitter Invective Poem.

Love Is A Child That Talks In Broken Language, Yet Then He Speaks Most Plain.

We Can Never Be Grieved For Their Miseries Who Are Thoroughly Wicked, And Have Thereby Justly Called Their Calamities On Themselves.

Raw In The Fields The Rude Militia Swarms, Mouth Without Hands; Maintained At Vast Expense, In Peace A Charge, In War A Weak Defence.

For What Can Power Give More Than Food And Drink, To Live At Ease, And Not Be Bound To Think?