My Dancing Days Are Past.

But Married Once, A Man Is Stak'd Or Pown'd, And Cannot Graze Beyond His Own Hedge.

Malice Scorned, Puts Out Itself; But Argued, Give A Kind Of Credit To A False Accusation.

Pleasures Of Worse Natures Are Gladly Entertained, And They That Shun Us Practice In Private Sports The Stews Would Blush At.

I In My Own House Am An Emperor, And Will Defend What's Mine.

Tis The Only Discipline We Are Born For; All Studies Else Are But As Circular Lines, And Death The Center Where They All Must Meet.