A hungry wolf at all the herd will run, In hopes, through many, to make sure of one.

Wou'd I were free from this restraint, Or else had hopes to win her; Wou'd she cou'd make me a saint, Or I of her a sinner

There are come Critics so with Spleen diseased,They scarcely come inclining to be pleased:And sure he must have more than mortal Skill,Who please one against his Will.

If you're ridin' ahead of the herd, take a look back every now and then to make sure it's still there

A herd of prairie-wolves will enter a field of melons and quarrel about the division of the spoils as fiercely and noisily as so many politicians.

Say what you will, 'tis better to be left than never to have been loved.