A rich rogue nowadays is fit company for any gentleman; and the world, my dear, hath not such a contempt for roguery as you imagine.
If with me you'd fondly stray Over the hills and far away.
I cannot raise my worth too high; Of what vast consequence am I! "Not of the importance you suppose," Replies a Flea upon his nose; "Be humble, learn thyself to scan; Know, pride was never made for man.
Breathe soft, ye winds! ye waves, in silence sleep!
No author ever spar'd a brother.
My lodging is on the cold ground, And hard, very hard, is my fare, But that which grieves me more Is the coldness of my dear.
The careful insect 'midst his works I view, Now from the flowers exhaust the fragrant dew, With golden treasures load his little thighs, And steer his distant journey through the skies.
Fill ev'ry glass, for wine inspires us, And fires us With courage, love and joy. Women and wine should life employ. Is there ought else on earth desirous?
O Polly, you might have toyed and kissed, by keeping men off, you keep them on.
Fill it up. I take as large draughts of liquor as I did of love. I hate a flincher in either.
Who friendship with a knave hath made, Is judged a partner in the trade.
How happy could I be with either, Were t'other dear charmer away!
Were I laid on Greenland's Coast, And in my Arms embrac'd my Lass; Warm amidst eternal Frost, Too soon the Half Year's Night would pass.
In every age and clime we see Two of a trade can never agree.
To frame the little animal, provide All the gay hues that wait on female pride: Let Nature guide thee; sometimes golden wire The shining bellies of the fly require; The peacock's plumes thy tackle must not fail, Nor the dear purchase of the sable's tail.
Of all mechanics, of all servile handycrafts-men, a gamester is the vilest. But yet, as many of the quality are of the profession, he is admitted amongst the politest company.
[Gulliver was soon being read] "from the cabinet council to the nursery".
Here Shock, the pride of all his kind, is laid, Who fawned like man, but ne'er like man betrayed.
When if or chance or hunger's powerful sway Directs the roving trout this fatal way, He greedily sucks in the twining bait, And tugs and nibbles the fallacious meat. Now, happy fisherman; now twitch the line! How thy rod bends! behold, the prize is thine!
Variety's the source of joy below, From whence still fresh-revolving pleasures flow, In books and love the mind one end pursues, And only change the expiring flames renews.
I never, with important air, In conversation overbear. . . . . My tongue within my lips I rein; For who talks much must talk in vain.
So comes a reck'ning when the banquet's o'er, The dreadful reckn'ning, and men smile no more.
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