To Marry A Fool Is To Be

I Have The Fault Of Being A Little More Sincere Than Is Proper.

Then Worms Shall Try That Long Preserved Virginity, And Your Quaint Honor Turn To Dust, And Into Ashes All My Lust. The Grave's A Fine And Private Place But None, I Think, Do There Embrace.

Consistency Is Only Suitable For Ridicule.

You Never See The Old Austerity That Was The Essence Of Civility; Young People Hereabouts, Unbridled, Now Just Want.

No Reason Makes It Right To Shun Accepted Ways From Stubborn Spite; And We May Better Join The Foolish Crowd Than Cling To Wisdom, Lonely Though Unbowed.