Henry Fielding

The modesty's a candle to thy merit.

The modesty's a candle to thy merit.

The blackest ink of fate are sure my lot,
And when fate writ my name it made a blot.

The blackest ink of fate are sure my lot,
And when fate writ my name it made a blot.

None of our political writers . . . take notice of any more than
three estates, namely, Kings, Lords read more

None of our political writers . . . take notice of any more than
three estates, namely, Kings, Lords and Commons . . . passing by
in silence that very large and powerful body which form the
fourth estate in the community . . . the Mob.

It is not death, but dying, which is terrible.

It is not death, but dying, which is terrible.

Petition me no petitions, Sir, to-day;
Let other hours be set apart for business,
To-day it is read more

Petition me no petitions, Sir, to-day;
Let other hours be set apart for business,
To-day it is our pleasure to be drunk;
And this our queen shall be as drunk as we.