All Men's Faces Are True, Whatsome'er Their

There Is A River In Macedon, And There Is Moreover A River In Monmouth. It Is Called Wye At Monmouth, But It Is Out Of My Prains What Is The Name Of The Other River; But 'tis All One, 'tis Alike As My Fingers Is To My Fingers, And There Is Salmons In Both.

Fools Are Not Mad Folks.

In Limited Professions There's Boundless Theft.

Adieu! I Have Too Grieved A Heart To Take A Tedious Leave.

How Slow This Old Moon Wanes! She Lingers My Desires, Like To A Stepdame, Or A Dowager, Long Withering Out A Young Man's Revenue.