A woman scorn'd is pitiless as fate, For then the dread of shame adds stings to hate.

What boots it on the lineal tree to trace Through many a branch the founders of our race.

If you reveal your secrets to the wind you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees.

So comes a reck'ning when the banquet's o'er, The dreadful reckn'ning, and men smile no more.

A man should be religious, not superstitious.

Who friendship with a knave hath made, Is judg'd a partner in the trade.