It Is Observed By Cicero, That Men

Women Were Formed To Temper Mankind, And Sooth Them Into Tenderness And Compassion; Not To Set An Edge Upon Their Minds, And Blowup In Them Those Passions Which Are Too Apt To Rise Of Their Own Accord.

To Be Exempt From The Passions With Which Others Are Tormented, Is The Only Pleasing Solitude.

Honour's A Sacred Tie, The Law Of Kings, The Noble Mind's Distinguishing Perfection That Aids And Strengthens Virtue Where It Meets Her And Imitates Her Actions Where She Is Not: It Is Not To Be Sported With.

A Thousand Glorious Actions That Might Claim Triumphant Laurels, And Immortal Fame, Confus'd In Crowds Of Glorious Actions Lie, And Troops Of Heroes Undistinguished Die.

A Man With Great Talents, But Void Of Discretion, Is Like Polyphemus In The Fable, Strong And Blind, Endued With An Irresistible Force, Which For Want Of Sight Is Of No Use To Him.