My Grief Lies Onward, And My Joy

The Fool Multitude, That Choose By Show, Not Learning More Than The Fond Eye Doth Teach.

For Though The Camomile, The More It Is Trodden On The Faster It Grows, Yet Youth, The More It Is Wasted, The Sooner It Wears.

Ask God For Temp'rance. That's Th' Appliance Only Which Your Disease Requires.

Adversity Makes Strange Bedfellows.

Tis Safter To Be That Which We Destroy Than By Destruction Dwell In Doubtful Joy.