Bid me to love, and I will give a loving heart to thee.
If little labour, little are our gains: Man's fortunes are according to his pains.
A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.
None pities him that is in the snare, who warned before, would not beware.
Conquer we shall, but, we must first contend! It's not the fight that crowns us, but the end.
Let's live with that small pittance which we have; Who covets more is evermore a slave.
When the artless doctor sees No one hope, but of his fees, And his skill runs on the lees; Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When his potion and his pill, Has, or none, or little skill, Meet for nothing, but to kill; Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
Humble we must be, if to heaven we go; High is the roof there, but the gate is low.
I dare not ask a kiss; I dare not beg a smile; Lest having that or this, I might grow proud the while. No, no, the utmost share Of my desire shall be Only to kiss that air, That lately kissed thee.
Give me a kiss, and to that kiss a score; Then to that twenty, add a hundred more: A thousand to that hundred: so kiss on, To make that thousand up a million. Treble that million, and when that is done, Let's kiss afresh, as when we first begun.
Tears are the noble language of eyes, and when true love of words is destitute. The eye by tears speak, while the tongue is mute.
Men are suspicious; prone to discontent: Subjects still loathe the present Government.
It takes great wit and interest and energy to be happy. The pursuit of happiness is a great activity. One must be open and alive. It is the greatest feat man has to accomplish.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun.
Bid me to live, and I will live Thy Protestant to be: Or bid me love, and I will give A loving heart to thee, A heart as soft, a heart as kind, A heart as sound and free As in the whole world thou canst find, That heart I'll give to thee.
Her eyes the glowworm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
Attempt the end and never stand to doubt; Nothing's so hard, but search will find it out.
Drink wine, and live here blitheful while ye may; The morrow's life too late is; live to-day.
Who with a little cannot be content, endures an everlasting punishment.
Twixt kings and tyrants there's this difference known; Kings seek their subjects' good: tyrants their own.
He who has suffered shipwreck, fears to sail Upon the seas, though with a gentle gale.
In things a moderation keep; Kings ought to shear, not skin, their sheep.
It is the end that crowns us, not the fight.
In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part, Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.
Art quickens nature; care will make a face; Neglected beauty perisheth apace.
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