A Little Scorn Is Alluring.

Come, Come, Leave Business To Idlers, And Wisdom To Fools: They Have Need Of 'em: Wit Be My Faculty, And Pleasure My Occupation, And Let Father Time Shake His Glass.

She Likes Herself, Yet Others Hates, For That Which In Herself She Prizes; And While She Laughs At Them, Forgets She Is The Thing That She Despises.

Defer Not Till To-morrow To Be Wise, To-morrow's Sun To Thee May Never Rise; Or Should To-morrow Chance To Cheer Thy Sight With Her Enlivening And Unlook'd For Light, How Grateful Will Appear Her Dawning Rays! As Favours Unexpected Doubly Please.

I Know That’s A Secret, For It’s Whispered Everywhere.

Nothing But You Can Lay Hold Of My Mind, And That Can Lay Hold Of Nothing But You.