Talk no more of the lucky escape of the head From a flint so unhappily thrown; I think very different from thousands; indeed 'Twas a lucky escape for the stone.

Discord, a sleepless hag who never dies, With Snipe-like nose, and Ferret-glowing eyes, Lean sallow cheeks, long chin with beard supplied, Poor crackling joints, and wither'd parchment hide, As if old Drums, worn out with martial din, Had clubb'd their yellow Heads to form her Skin.

I feel in every smile a chain.

What desire for fame attends both great and small; better be damned than mentioned not at all!

The coward's weapon, poison.

What's one man's poison, signior, Is another's meat or drink.