Proverbs


'TIS easier far a wreath to bind,
Than a good owner fort to find.

I KILL'D a thousand flies overnight,
Yet was waken'd by one, as soon as twas light.


To the mother I give;
For the daughter I live.

A BREACH is every day,
By many a mortal storm'd;
Let them fall in the gaps as they may,
Yet a heap of dead is ne'er form'd.


WHAT harm has thy poor mirror done, alas?
Look not so ugly, prythee, in the glass!