I Nauseate Walking; 'tis A Country Diversion,

If Happiness In Self-content Is Placed, The Wise Are Wretched, And Fools Only Blessed.

Hannibal Was A Very Pretty Fellow In Those Days.

Words Are The Weak Support Of Cold Indifference; Love Has No Language To Be Heard.

There Are Come Critics So With Spleen Diseased, They Scarcely Come Inclining To Be Pleased: And Sure He Must Have More Than Mortal Skill, Who Please One Against His Will.

Who Pleases One Against His Will.