Ill News Is Wing'd With

He Is A Perpetual Fountain Of Good Sense.

We Find Few Historians Who Have Been Diligent Enough In Their Search For Truth; It Is Their Common Method To Take On Trust What They Help Distribute To The Public; By Which Means A Falsehood Once Received From A Famed Writer Becomes Traditional To Posterity.

Love Is A Child That Talks In Broken Language, Yet Then He Speaks Most Plain.

Content With Poverty, My Soul I Arm; And Virtue, Though In Rags, Will Keep Me Warm.

And That One Hunting, Which The Devil Design'd For One Fair Female, Lost Him Half The Kind.