You Peasant Swain! You Whoreson Malt-horse Drudge!

Rich Gifts Wax Poor When Givers Prove Unkind.

A Plague On Both Your Houses.

Make The Doors Upon A Woman's Wit, And It Will Out At The Casement; Shut That, And 'twill Out At The Key-hole; Stop That, 'twill Fly With The Smoke Out At The Chimney.

Mechanic Slaves With Greasy Aprons, Rules, And Hammers, Shall Uplift Us To The View.

What Can Be Happier Than For A Man, Conscious Of Virtuous Acts, And Content With Liberty, To Despise All Human Affairs?