From Kings To Cobblers 'tis The Same;

Do You Think Your Mother And I Should Have Lived Comfortably So Long Together, If Ever We Had Been Married? Baggage!

But His Kiss Was So Sweet, And So Closely He Pressed, That I Languished And Pined Till I Granted The Rest.

The Sun Was Set; The Night Came On Apace, And Falling Dews Bewet Around The Place; The Bat Takes Airy Rounds On Leathern Wings, And The Hoarse Owl His Woeful Dirges Sings.

The Luxury Of Doing Good Surpasses Every Other Personal Enjoyment.

I Hate The Man Who Builds His Name On Ruins Of Another's Fame. Thus Prudes, By Characters O'erthrown, Imagine That They Raise Their Own. Thus Scribblers, Covetous Of Praise, Think Slander Can Transplant The Bays.