Who Talks Much, Must Talk In Vain.

In Every Age And Clime We See Two Of A Trade Can Never Agree.

To Shoot At Crows Is Powder Flung Away.

O Polly, You Might Have Toyed And Kissed, By Keeping Men Off, You Keep Them On.

The Careful Insect 'midst His Works I View, Now From The Flowers Exhaust The Fragrant Dew, With Golden Treasures Load His Little Thighs, And Steer His Distant Journey Through The Skies.

You Can Only Be Called A Hypocrite If You Judge Others First.