Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my read more

Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd,
From wandering on a foreign strand!

Spectacles are deaths Harquebuze.

Spectacles are deaths Harquebuze.

Maxims are the condensed good sense of nations.

Maxims are the condensed good sense of nations.

The tongue is the worst part of a bad servant.

The tongue is the worst part of a bad servant.

For over-warmth, if false, is worse than truth.

For over-warmth, if false, is worse than truth.

The rills of pleasure never run sincere,
(Earth has no unpolluted spring)
From the cursed soil some read more

The rills of pleasure never run sincere,
(Earth has no unpolluted spring)
From the cursed soil some dang'rous taint they bear;
So roses grow on thorns, and honey wears a sting.

The face, not the woman is the attraction.

The face, not the woman is the attraction.

The command of custome is great.

The command of custome is great.

He that hath little is the lesse durtie.

He that hath little is the lesse durtie.