Blown Roses Hold Their Sweetness To The

Thoughts Cannot Form Themselves In Words So Horrid As Can Express My Guilt.

All The Learn'd Are Cowards By Profession.

New Vows To Plight, And Plighted Vows To Break.

It's A Hard World, Neighbors, If A Man's Oath Must Be His Master.

Good Heaven, Whose Darling Attribute We Find Is Boundless Grace, And Mercy To Mankind, Abhors The Cruel.