Rich Honesty Dwells Like A Miser, Sir,

So Many Miseries Have Craz'd My Voice, That My Woe-wearied Tongue Is Still And Mute.

Women Are Angels, Wooing: Things Won Are Done; Joy's Soul Lies In The Doing: That She Beloved Knows Naught, That Knows Not This-- Men Prize The Thing Ungained More Than It Is.

It Is The Disease Of Not Listening...... That I Am Troubled With.

I And My Bosom Must Debate Awhile, And Then I Would No Other Company.

For Thou Hast Given Me In This Beauteous Face A World Of Earthly Blessings To My Soul, If Sympathy Of Love Unite Our Thoughts.