With How Much Ease Believe We What

The Longest Tyranny That Ever Sway'd Was That Wherein Our Ancestors Betray'd Their Free-born Reason To The Stagirite [aristotle], And Made His Torch Their Universal Light. So Truth, While Only One Suppli'd The State, Grew Scarce, And Dear, And Yet Sophisticate.

Joy Rul'd The Day, And Love The Night.

None, None Descends Into Himself, To Find The Secret Imperfections Of His Mind: But Every One Is Eagle-ey'd To See Another's Faults, And His Deformity.

What Precious Drops Are Those, Which Silently Each Other's Track Pursue, Bright As Young Diamonds In Their Faint Dew?

When Misfortune Is Asleep, Let No One Wake Her.