A Brave World, Sir, Full

Come Away; Poverty's Catching.

Love Ceases To Be A Pleasure, When It Ceases To Be A Secret.

That Perfect Tranquillity Of Life, Which Is Nowhere To Be Found But In Retreat, A Faithful Friend And A Good Library.

Nothing Is More Capable Of Troubling Our Reason, And Consuming Our Health, Than Secret Notions Of Jealousy In Solitude.

'twas But A Dream, Yet By My Heart I Knew, Which Still Was Panting, Part Of It Was True: Oh How I Strove The Rest To Have Believed; Ashamed And Angry To Be Undeceived!