The Over Curious Are Not Over Wise.

Tis The Only Discipline We Are Born For; All Studies Else Are But As Circular Lines, And Death The Center Where They All Must Meet.

This Is The Jew That Shakespeare Drew.

But Married Once, A Man Is Stak'd Or Pown'd, And Cannot Graze Beyond His Own Hedge.

He That Knows No Guilt Can Know No Fear.

Shall This Nectar Run Useless, Then, To Waste? Or ... These Lips, That Open Like The Morn, Breathing Perfumes, On Such As Dare Approach Them, Be Untouch'd? They Must--nay, 'tis In Vain To Make Resistance-- Be Often Kissed And Tasted.