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No retreat. No retreat. They must conquer or die who've no retreat.

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
Must
Retreat
Conquer
Victory
Dies

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Fill ev'ry glass, for wine inspires us, And fires us With courage, love and joy. Women and wine should life employ. Is there ought else on earth desirous?
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Envy is a kind of praise.
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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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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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In beauty faults conspicuous grow The smallest speck is seen on snow.
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The luxury of doing good surpasses every other personal enjoyment.
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[Gulliver was soon being read] from the cabinet council to the nursery.
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I must have women - there is nothing unbends the mind like them.
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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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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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Fools may our scorn, not envy, raise. For envy is a kind of praise.
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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?
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Beasts kill for hunger, men for pay.
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A man is always afraid of a woman that loves him too much
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To shoot at crows is powder flung away.
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If the heart of a man is depressed with cares, The mist is dispelled when a woman appears.
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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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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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Youth's the season made for joys, Love is then our duty.
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