Who Falls For Love Of God, Shall

Fortune, That Favors Fools.

Man And Wife Make One Fool.

A New Disease? I Know Not, New Or Old, But It May Well Be Called Poor Mortals Plague For, Like A Pestilence, It Doth Infect The Houses Of The Brain Till Not A Thought, Or Motion, In The Mind, Be Free From The Black Poison Of Suspect.

Ambition, Like A Torrent, Never Looks Back.

I Know No Disease Of The Soul But Ignorance, A Pernicious Evil, The Darkener Of Man's Life, The Disturber Of His Reason, And Common Confounder Of Truth.