O Luxury! Thou Curst By Heaven's Decree!

You, That Are Going To Be Married, Think Things Can Never Be Done Too Fast: But We That Are Old, And Know What We Are About, Must Elope Methodically, Madam.

People Seldom Improve When They Have No Other Model But Themselves To Copy.

Near Yonder Copse, Where Once The Garden Smil'd, And Still Where Many A Garden Flower Grows Wild, There, Where A Few Torn Shrubs The Place Disclose, The Village Preacher's Modest Mansion Rose. A Man He Was To All The Country Dear, And Passing Rich With Forty Pounds A Year; Remote From Town's He Ran His Godly Race, Nor E'er Had Chang'd Nor Wish'd To Change His Place; Unskilful He To Fawn, Or Seek For Power, By Doctrines Fashion'd To The Varying Hour; Far Other Aims His Heart Had Learn'd To Prize. More Bent To Raise The Wretched Than To Rise.

The Bashful Virgin's Sidelong Looks Of Love.

To What Fortuitous Occurrence Do We Not Owe Every Pleasure And Convenience Of Our Lives.