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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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John Gay
Age: 47 †
Born: 1685
Born: June 30
Died: 1732
Died: December 4
Librettist
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Barnstaple
Devon
Fair
Buttercup
Blow
Daisy
Grows
Meadow
Daisies
Meadows
Blows
Beside
Fairs

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I must have women - there is nothing unbends the mind like them.
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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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Youth's the season made for joys, Love is then our duty.
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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.
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Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet.
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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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Lions, wolves, and vultures don't live together in herds, droves or flocks. Of all animals of prey, man is the only sociable one. Every one of us preys upon his neighbor, and yet we herd together.
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You can only be called a hypocrite if you judge others first.
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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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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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Music might tame and civilize wild beasts, but 'tis evident it never yet could tame and civilize musicians.
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A man is always afraid of a woman that loves him too much
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Praising all alike, is praising none.
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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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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.
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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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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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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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To shoot at crows is powder flung away.
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Fair words cost nothing.
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