A Plague Of Sighing And Grief! It

You Great Benefactors, Sprinkle Our Society With Thankfulness. For Your Own Gifts, Make Yourselves Praised.

Virtue That Transgresses Is But Patched With Sin; And Sin That Amends Is But Patched With Virtue.

Thou Art All The Comfort, The Gods Will Diet Me With.

But Like Of Each Thing That In Season Grows.

You Have Witchcraft In Your Lips, There Is More Eloquence In A Sugar Touch Of Them Than In The Tongues Of The French Council; And They Should Sooner Persuade Harry Of England Than A General Petition Of Monarchs.