Tomorrow Is An Old Deceiver, And His

Exercise Is Labor Without Weariness.

None Are Happy But By Anticipation Of Change.

How Small Of All That Human Hearts Endure/that Part Which Laws Or Kings Can Cause Or Cure.

I Have Already Enjoyed Too Much; Give Me Something To Desire.

A Continual Feast Of Commendation Is Only To Be Obtained By Merit Or By Wealth: Many Are Therefore Obliged To Content Themselves With Single Morsels, And Recompense The Infrequency Of Their Enjoyment By Excess And Riot, Whenever Fortune Sets The Banquet Before Them.