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Fools may our scorn, not envy, raise. For envy is a kind of praise.

John Gay

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John Gay
Age: 47 †
Born: 1685
Born: June 30
Died: 1732
Died: December 4
Librettist
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Barnstaple
Devon
Envy
Raises
Praise
Fool
Envied
May
Envious
Kind
Scorn
Fools
Raise

More quotes by John Gay

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Can you support the expense of a husband, hussy, in gaming, drinking and whoring? Have you money enough to carry on the daily quarrels of man and wife about who shall squander most?
John Gay
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Man may escape from rope and gun Nay, some have outlived the doctor's pill: Who takes a woman must be undone, That basilisk is sure to kill. The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets, So he that tastes woman, woman, woman, He that tastes woman, ruin meets.
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Do you think your mother and I should have lived comfortably so long together, if ever we had been married? Baggage!
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The luxury of doing good surpasses every other personal enjoyment.
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To frame the little animal, provide All the gay hues that wait on female pride: Let Nature guide thee sometimes golden wire The shining bellies of the fly require The peacock's plumes thy tackle must not fail, Nor the dear purchase of the sable's tail.
John Gay
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The charge is prepared the lawyers are met The judges all ranged (a terrible show!) I go, undismay'd. For death is a debt, A debt on demand. So take what I owe.
John Gay
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Music might tame and civilize wild beasts, but 'tis evident it never yet could tame and civilize musicians.
John Gay
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Beasts kill for hunger, men for pay.
John Gay
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Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet.
John Gay
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No retreat. No retreat. They must conquer or die who've no retreat.
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Praising all alike, is praising none.
John Gay
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I must have women - there is nothing unbends the mind like them.
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Youth's the season made for joys, Love is then our duty.
John Gay
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Shall ignorance of good and ill Dare to direct the eternal will? Seek virtue, and of that possest, To Providence resign the rest.
John Gay
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The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets.
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She who has never lov'd, has never liv'd.
John Gay
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In every age and clime we see Two of a trade can never agree.
John Gay
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Is there no hope? the sick man said, The silent doctor shook his head, And took his leave with signs of sorrow, Despairing of his fee to-morrow.
John Gay
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Fair is the kingcup that in meadow blows, Fair is the daisy that beside her grows.
John Gay
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To shoot at crows is powder flung away.
John Gay