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Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil O'er books consumed the midnight oil?

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
Midnight
Toil
Hath
Oil
Learning
Books
Book
Whence
Consumed

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Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet.
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[Gulliver was soon being read] from the cabinet council to the nursery.
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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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If the heart of a man is depressed with cares, The mist is dispelled when a woman appears.
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Praising all alike, is praising none.
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Envy's a sharper spur than pay.
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Fair words cost nothing.
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To friendship every burden's light.
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What will not luxury taste? Earth, sea, and air, Are daily ransack'd for the bill of fare. Blood stuffed in skins is British Christians' food, And France robs marshes of the croaking brood.
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She who has never lov'd, has never liv'd.
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The careful insect 'midst his works I view, Now from the flowers exhaust the fragrant dew, With golden treasures load his little thighs, And steer his distant journey through the skies.
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Breathe soft, ye winds! ye waves, in silence sleep!
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To shoot at crows is powder flung away.
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Around the steel no tortur'd worm shall twine, No blood of living insect stain my line Let me, less cruel, cast the feather'd hook, With pliant rod athwart the pebbled brook, Silent along the mazy margin stray, And with the fur-wrought fly delude the prey.
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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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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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No retreat. No retreat. They must conquer or die who've no retreat.
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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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