Women's Beauty, Like Men's Wit, Is Generally

Anne Of Austria (with Great Submission To A Crowned Head Do I Say It) Was A B----. She Had Spirit And Courage Without Parts, Devotion Without Common Morality, And Lewdness Without Tenderness Either To Justify Or To Dignify It. Her Two Sons Were No More Lewis The Thirteen's Than They Were Mine.

Swift Speedy Time, Feathered With Flying Hours, Dissolves The Beauty Of The Fairest Brow.

One Man Affirms That He Has Rode Post A Hundred Miles In Six Hours; Probably It Is A Lie; But Supposing It To Be True, What Then? Why, He Is A Very Good Post-boy; That Is All. Another Asserts, And Probably Not Without Oaths, That He Has Drunk Six Or Eight Bottles Of Wine At A Sitting; Out Of Charity I Will Believe Him A Liar; For If I Do Not, I Must Think Him A Beast.

He Adorned Whatever Subject He Either Spoke Or Wrote Upon, By The Most Splendid Eloquence.

It Is By Vivacity And Wit That Man Shines In Company; But Trite Jokes And Loud Laughter Reduce Him To A Buffoon.