Resolved To Ruin Or To Rule The

Youth, Beauty, Graceful Action Seldom Fail: But Common Interest Always Will Prevail; And Pity Never Ceases To Be Shown To Him Who Makes The People's Wrongs His Own.

But Love's A Malady Without A Cure.

The Good We Have Enjoyed From Heaven's Free Will, And Shall We Murmur To Endure The Ill?

Happy The Man, And Happy He Alone, He, Who Can Call Today His Own.

Present Joys Are More To Flesh And Blood Than A Dull Prospect Of A Distant Good.