Death Ends Our Woes, And The Kind

The Poorest Of The Sex Have Still An Itch To Know Their Fortunes, Equal To The Rich. The Dairy-maid Inquires, If She Shall Take The Trusty Tailor, And The Cook Forsake.

My Whole Life Has Been A Golden Dream Of Love And Friendship.

My Hands Are Guilty, But My Heart Is Free.

Such Subtle Covenants Shall Be Made,till Peace It Self Is War In Masquerade.

If The Faults Of Men In Orders Are Only To Be Judged Among Themselves, They Are All In Some Sort Parties; For, Since They Say The Honour Of Their Order Is Concerned In Every Member Of It, How Can We Be Sure That They Will Be Impartial Judges?