As the sweet voice of a bird,
Heard by the lander in a lonely isle,
Moves him read more

As the sweet voice of a bird,
Heard by the lander in a lonely isle,
Moves him to think what kind of bird it is,
That sings so delicately clear, and make
Conjecture of the plumage and the form.

He that is not handsome at 20, nor strong at 30, nor rich at 40,
nor wise at 50, read more

He that is not handsome at 20, nor strong at 30, nor rich at 40,
nor wise at 50, will never bee handsome, strong, rich, or wise.

Those things please more, which are more expensive.

Those things please more, which are more expensive.

If you would be wealthy, think of saving as well as getting.

If you would be wealthy, think of saving as well as getting.

There's nothing makes me so much grieve,
As that abominable tittle-tattle,
Which is the cud eschew'd by read more

There's nothing makes me so much grieve,
As that abominable tittle-tattle,
Which is the cud eschew'd by human cattle.

Though fame is smoke,
Its fumes are frankincense to human thought.

Though fame is smoke,
Its fumes are frankincense to human thought.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose
under the heaven:
A time read more

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose
under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time
to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a
time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time
to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to
cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a
time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of
peace.

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn,
What dangers thou canst make us scorn!
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil;
read more

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn,
What dangers thou canst make us scorn!
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil;
Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil!

There is no heat of affection but is joyned with some idlenesse
of brain, says the Spaniard.

There is no heat of affection but is joyned with some idlenesse
of brain, says the Spaniard.