The game is as often lost by a card too many as one too few; but a word to the wise is sufficient.
Come, death, with gently-stealing pace, And take me unperceived away, Nor let me see thy wished-for face, Lest joy my fleeting life should stay.
The tyrant fair whose beauty sent The throbbing mischief to my heart, The more my anguish to augment, Forbids me to reveal the smart.
When a thing is once begun, it is almost half finished.
When the heifer you receive, Have a halter in your sleeve.