Tell Troth And Shame The Devil.

I Now Think, Love Is Rather Deaf, Than Blind, For Else It Could Not Be, That She, Whom I Adore So Much, Should So Slight Me, And Cast My Love Behind.

Books Are Faithful Repositories, Which May Be Awhile Neglected Or Forgotten, But When They Are Opened Again, Will Again Impart Their Instruction.

Let Argument Bear No Unmusical Sound.

That Old Bald Cheater, Time.

No Simple Word That Shall Be Uttered At Our Mirthful Board, Shall Make Us Sad Next Morning; Or Affright The Liberty That We'll Enjoy To-night.