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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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John Gay
Age: 47 †
Born: 1685
Born: June 30
Died: 1732
Died: December 4
Librettist
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Barnstaple
Devon
Head
Doctor
Hope
Medicine
Men
Doctors
Silent
Despairing
Sorrow
Fees
Sick
Shook
Took
Morrow
Leave
Signs

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You can only be called a hypocrite if you judge others first.
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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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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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To shoot at crows is powder flung away.
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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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Sure men were born to lie, and women to believe them!
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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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A man is always afraid of a woman that loves him too much
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In every age and clime we see Two of a trade can never agree.
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The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets.
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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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She who has never lov'd, has never liv'd.
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Nor love, not honor, wealth nor power, can give the heart a cheerful hour when health is lost. Be timely wise With health all taste of pleasure flies.
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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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Can love be controll'd by advice?
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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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Fair is the kingcup that in meadow blows, Fair is the daisy that beside her grows.
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O Polly, you might have toyed and kissed, by keeping men off, you keep them on.
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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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