And plenty makes us poor. |
And this unpolished rugged verse I chose / As fittest for discourse and nearest prose. |
And thus the child imposes on the man. |
And torture one poor word ten thousand ways. |
And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm |
And, like another Helen, fired another Troy. |
And, wide as his command, / Scattered his Maker's image through the land. |
Bacchus ever fair, and ever young. |
Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure |
Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease |
Be slow to resolve, but quick in performance. |
Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray; Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun. |
Beggared by fools! whom still he found too late, He had his jest, but they had his estate |
Better shun the bait, than struggle in the snare. |
Better to hunt in fields for health unbought than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught. The wise for cure on exercise depend; |