More quotes by Paul Whitehead
Why, praise is satire in these sinful days.
Honour (1747)
Fond of your freedom spurn the venal fee,
And prove he's only great—who dares to be free.
Manners (1739)
With the sports of the field there's no pleasure can vie,
While jocund we follow our hounds in full cry.
Honour’s a mistress all mankind pursue,
Yet most mistake the false one for the true:
Lur’d by the trappings, dazzled by the paint,
We worship oft the idol for the saint.
Honour (1747)
Ye belles, and ye flirts, and ye pert little things,
Who trip in this frolicsome round,
Pray tell me from whence this impertinence springs,
The sexes at once to confound?
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