A Good Heart 'is Worth Gold.

Time Goes On Crutches Till Love Have All His Rites.

Who Is So Firm That Can't Be Seduced?

Good Lord, For Alliance! Thus Goes Every One To The World But I, And I Am Sunburnt; I May Sit In A Corner And Cry Heigh-ho For A Husband!

Therefore The Moon, The Governess Of Floods, Pale In Her Anger Washes All The Air, That Rheumatic Diseases Do Abound; And Through This Distemperature We See The Seasons Alter: Hoary-headed Frosts Fall In The Fresh Lap Of The Crimson Rose.

Ignorance Is The Curse Of God; Knowledge Is The Wing Wherewith We Fly To Heaven.