I Know That’s A Secret, For It’s

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.

Mr Witwould: "pray, Madam, Do You Pin Up Your Hair With All Your Letters? I Find I Must Keep Copies." Mrs Millamant: "only With Those In Verse.... I Never Pin Up My Hair With Prose."

Love's But The Frailty Of The Mind, When 'tis Not With Ambition Joined; A Sickly Flame, Which If Not Fed Expires; And Feeding, Wastes In Self-consuming Fires.

How Hard A Thing 'twould Be To Please You All.

Honor Is A Public Enemy, And Conscience A Domestic, And He That Would Secure His Pleasure, Must Pay A Tribute To One And Go Halves With T'other.