EDWARD MOORE

Time, still as he flies, adds increase to her truth, and gives to her mind what he steals from her youth.

'Tis now the summer of your youth: time has not cropped the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.

This is adding insult to injuries.

I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice.

I think when you're blessed with great influences, you need to spread it.

Ay, rail at gaming - 'tis a rich topic, and affords noble declamation. Go, preach against it in the city - you'll find a congregation in every tavern.

'Tis now the summer of your youth: time has not cropped the roses from your cheek, though sorrow long has washed them.

I think when you're blessed with great influences, you need to spread it.

I am rich beyond the dreams of avarice.

Ay, rail at gaming - 'tis a rich topic, and affords noble declamation. Go, preach against it in the city - you'll find a congregation in every tavern.

Time, still as he flies, adds increase to her truth, and gives to her mind what he steals from her youth.

This is adding insult to injuries.