The Burnt Child Dreads The

I See Compassion May Become A Justice, Though It Be A Weakness, I Confess, And Nearer A Vice Than A Virtue.

Indeed There's A Woundy Luck In Names.

A Good Man Will Avoid The Spot Of Any Sin. The Very Aspersion Is Grievous, Which Makes Him Choose His Way In His Life, As He Would In His Journey.

Chance Will Not Do The Work. Chance Sends The Breeze; But If The Pilot Slumber At The Helm, The Very Wind That Wafts Us Tow'rds The Port May Dash Us On The Shoals. The Steersman's Part Is Vigilance, Or Blow It Rough Or Smooth.

In Small Proportions We Just Beauties See; And In Short Measures, Life May Perfect Be.