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If the heart of a man is depressed with cares, The mist is dispelled when a woman appears.

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
Caring
Woman
Care
Dispelled
Heart
Mist
Men
Depressed
Cares
Appears
Depression

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Can love be controll'd by advice?
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Music might tame and civilize wild beasts, but 'tis evident it never yet could tame and civilize musicians.
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Who hath not heard the rich complain Of surfeits, and corporeal pain? He barr'd from every use of wealth, Envies the ploughman's strength and health.
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A man is always afraid of a woman that loves him too much
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Envy's a sharper spur than pay: No author ever spar'd a brother Wits are gamecocks to one another.
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Envy's a sharper spur than pay.
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My lodging is on the cold ground, And hard, very hard, is my fare, But that which grieves me more Is the coldness of my dear.
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A rich rogue nowadays is fit company for any gentleman and the world, my dear, hath not such a contempt for roguery as you imagine.
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Some folks of cider make a rout And cider's well enough no doubt When better liquors fail But wine, that's richer, better still, Ev'n wine itself (deny't who will) Must yield to nappy ale
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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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Praising all alike, is praising none.
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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.
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Envy is a kind of praise.
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Learning by study must be won 'Twas ne'er entail'd from son to son.
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The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets.
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Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet.
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Youth's the season made for joys, Love is then our duty.
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I cannot raise my worth too high Of what vast consequence am I! Not of the importance you suppose, Replies a Flea upon his nose Be humble, learn thyself to scan Know, pride was never made for man.
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Fair is the kingcup that in meadow blows, Fair is the daisy that beside her grows.
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Why is the hearse with scutcheons blazon'd round, And with the nodding plume of ostrich crown'd? No the dead know it not, nor profit gain It only serves to prove the living vain.
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