But Love's A Malady Without A Cure.

It's A Hard World, Neighbors, If A Man's Oath Must Be His Master.

If One Must Be Rejected, One Succeed, Make Him My Lord Within Whose Faithful Breast Is Fixed My Image, And Who Loves Me Best.

Either Be Wholly Slaves Or Wholly Free.

Great Wits Are Sure To Madness Near Allied, And Thin Partitions Do Their Bounds Divide.

Restless At Home, And Ever Prone To Range.