Knaves Starve Not In The Land Of

Who To Patch Up His Fame, Or Fill His Purse, Still Pilfers Wretched Plans, And Makes Them Worse; Like Gypsies, Lest The Stolen Brat Be Known, Defacing First, Then Claiming For His Own.

Wherever Waves Can Roll, And Winds Can Blow.

The Surest Way To Health, Say What They Will, Is Never To Suppose We Shall Be Ill; Most Of The Ills Which We Poor Mortals Know From Doctors And Imagination Flow.

The Proud Will Sooner Lose Than Ask Their Way.

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.