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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.

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
Grieving
Ground
Dear
Cold
Hard
Lodging
Grieves
Coldness
Fare

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She who has never lov'd, has never liv'd.
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Envy is a kind of praise.
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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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I must have women - there is nothing unbends the mind like them.
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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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The luxury of doing good surpasses every other personal enjoyment.
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To friendship every burden's light.
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To shoot at crows is powder flung away.
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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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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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Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil O'er books consumed the midnight oil?
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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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No retreat. No retreat. They must conquer or die who've no retreat.
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Gamesters and highwaymen are generally very good to their whores, but they are very devils to their wives.
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Fools may our scorn, not envy, raise. For envy is a kind of praise.
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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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