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To shoot at crows is powder flung away.

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
Away
Crows
Flung
Powder
Crow
Shoot

More quotes by John Gay

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To friendship every burden's light.
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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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To frame the little animal, provide All the gay hues that wait on female pride: Let Nature guide thee sometimes golden wire The shining bellies of the fly require The peacock's plumes thy tackle must not fail, Nor the dear purchase of the sable's tail.
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She who has never lov'd, has never liv'd.
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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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Praising all alike, is praising none.
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In every age and clime we see Two of a trade can never agree.
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Fair is the kingcup that in meadow blows, Fair is the daisy that beside her grows.
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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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In beauty faults conspicuous grow The smallest speck is seen on snow.
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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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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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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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Who hath not heard the rich complain Of surfeits, and corporeal pain? He barr'd from every use of wealth, Envies the ploughman's strength and health.
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Envy is a kind of praise.
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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!
John Gay
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Fair is the marigold, for pottage meet.
John Gay
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Fair words cost nothing.
John Gay
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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.
John Gay
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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.
John Gay