Sure There Is None But

Since Every Man Who Lives Is Born To Die, And None Can Boast Sincere Felicity, With Equal Mind, What Happens, Let Us Bear, Nor Joy Nor Grieve Too Much For Things Beyond Our Care. Like Pilgrims To The' Appointed Place We Tend; The World's An Inn, And Death The Journey's End.

Fortune, That With Malicious Joydoes Man Her Slave Oppress,proud Of Her Office To Destroy,is Seldom Pleasd To Bless.

If You Are For A Merry Jaunt, I Will Try, For Once, Who Can Foot It Farthest.

The Secret Pleasure Of A Generous Act Is The Great Mind's Great Bribe.

Plots, True Or False, Are Necessary Things, To Raise Up Commonwealths And Ruin Kings.