Envy is a kind of praise.
One common fate we both must prove; You die with envy, I with love.
Fools may our scorn, not envy, raise. For envy is a kind of praise.
Who hath not heard the rich complain Of surfeits, and corporeal pain? He barr'd from every use of wealth, Envies the ploughman's strength and health.
Envy's a sharper spur than pay.
Envy's a sharper spur than pay: No author ever spar'd a brother; Wits are gamecocks to one another.
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