There is not one wise man in twenty that will praise himself.

Praising what is lost Makes the remembrance dear

Praise us as we are tasted, allow us as we prove.

All, with one consent, praise newborn gawds (sic), though they are made and molded of things past

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them, The good is oft interred with their bones.

Praise enough To fill the ambition of a private man, That Chatham's language was his mother-tongue.