The Bird Loves Her Nest.

After The House Is Finisht, Leave It.

I Read, And Sigh, And Wish I Were A Tree; For Sure Then I Should Grow To Fruit Or Shade: At Least Some Bird Would Trust Her Household To Me, And I Should Be Just.

The Hearts Letter Is Read In The Eyes.

He That Plaies His Mony Ought Not To Value It.

We Must Love, As Looking One Day To Hate.