| C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917. | | | | Peter Pindar |
| | | | Care to our coffin adds a nail, no doubt; |
| And every grin, so merry, draws one out. |
| 1 |
| | Discord, a sleepless hag, who never dies, |
| With snipe-like nose and ferret-glowing eyes, |
| Lean sallow cheeks, long chin, with beard supplied, |
| Poor crackling joints, and wither’d parchment hide, |
| As if old drums, worn out with martial din, |
| Had clubb’d their yellow heads to form her skin. |
| 2 |
| | O delicious kiss, |
| Why thou so suddenly art gone? |
| Lost in the moment thou art won? |
| 3 |
| | The turnpike road to people’s hearts, I find, |
| Lies through their mouths, or I mistake mankind. |
| 4 |
| | To wear long faces, just as if our Maker, |
| The God of goodness, was an undertaker. |
| 5 |
| | Wedlock’s a saucy, sad, familiar state, |
| Where folks are very apt to scold and hate:— |
| Love keeps a modest distance, is divine, |
| Obliging, and says ev’ry thing that’s fine. |
| 6 |
| | Wit, says an author that I do not know, |
| Is like Time’s scythe—cuts down both friend and foe;— |
| Ready, each object, tiger-like, to leap on! |
| “Lord! what a butcher this same wit!” |
| 7 | | |
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