All Other Goods By Fortune's

Modest Plainness Sets Off Sprightly Wit, For Works May Have More With Than Does 'em Good, As Bodies Perish Through Excess Of Blood.

Grave Authors Say, And Witty Poets Sing, That Honest Wedlock Is A Glorious Thing.

Bear, Like The Turk, No Brother Near The Throne.

Give Me Again My Hollow Tree A Crust Of Bread, And Liberty!

Whoever Thinks A Faultless Piece To See, Thinks What Ne'er Was, Nor Is, Nor E'er Shall Be.