Well, Every One Can Master A Grief

They Told Me I Was Everything. 'tis A Lie, I Am Not Ague-proof.

He's Of The Colour Of The Nutmeg. And Of The Heat Of The Ginger.... He Is Pure Air And Fire; And The Dull Elements Of Earth And Water Never Appear In Him, But Only In Patient Stillness While His Rider Mounts Him; He Is Indeed A Horse, And All Other Jades You May Call Beasts.

The Sweat Of Industry Would Dry And Die, But For The End It Works To.

To Take Arms Against A Sea Of Troubles.

A Very Scurvy Fellow.