And Binding Nature Fast In Fate, Left

An Excuse Is Worse And More Terrible Than A Lie; For An Excuse Is A Lie Guarded.

The Muse But Serv'd To Ease Some Friend, Not Wife, / To Help Me Through This Long Disease, My Life.

Hear How The Birds, On Ev'ry Blooming Spray, With Joyous Musick Wake The Dawning Day.

Wholesome Solitude, The Nurse Of Sense!

In Lazy Apathy Let Stoics Boast, Their Virtue Fixed, 'tis Fixed As In A Frost.