Jealousy Is The Jaundice Of

Trust On And Think To-morrow Will Repay; To-morrow's Falser Than The Former Day; Lies Worse; And While It Says, We Shall Be Blest With Some New Joys, Cuts Off What We Possest.

How Happy The Lover, How Easy His Chain, How Pleasing His Pain, How Sweet To Discover He Sighs Not In Vain.

He Who Trusts A Secret To His Servant Makes His Own Man His Master.

Satire Is A Kind Of Poetry In Which Human Vices Are Reprehended.

He Who Trusts Secrets To A Servant Makes Him His Master