Samuel Butler (poet)

We grant, although he had much wit, He was very shy of using it.

When civil fury first grew high, And men fell out, they knew not why; When hard words, jealousies, and fears, Set folks together by the ears, And made them fight, like mad or drunk, For Dame Religion, as for punk; Whose honesty they all …

Women, that left no stone unturn'd In which the cause might be concern’d, Brought in their children’s spoons and whistles, To purchase swords, carbines, and pistols.

A News-monger is a Retailer of Rumour, that takes up upon Trust, and sells as cheap as he buys. He deals in a perishable Commodity, that will not keep: for if it be not fresh it lies upon his Hands, and will yield nothing. True or false is …

And poets by their sufferings grow; As if there were no more to do, To make a poet excellent, But only want and discontent.

Authority intoxicates, And makes mere sots of magistrates; The fumes of it invade the brain, And make men giddy, proud and vain; By this the fool commands the wise, The noble with the base complies, The sot assumes the rule of wit, and …

There are more fools than knaves in the world, else the knaves would not have enough to live upon.