Who Dare To Love Their

What Can Ennoble Sots, Or Slaves, Or Cowards? Alas! Not All The Blood, Of All The Howards.

The Mouse That Always Trusts To One Poor Hole Can Never Be A Mouse Of Any Soul.

Sickness Is A Sort Of Early Old Age; It Teaches Us A Diffidence In Our Earthly State.

Fly, Dotard, Fly! With Thy Wise Dreams And Fables Of The Sky.

'tis Not A Lip, Or Eye, We Beauty Call, But The Joint Force And Full Result Of All.