Blown Roses Hold Their Sweetness To The

Courage From Hearts And Not From Numbers Grows.

Trust Reposed In Noble Natures Obliges Them The More.

Her Wit Was More Than Man, Her Innocence A Child.

The Soft Complaining Flute, In Dying Notes, Discovers The Woes Of Hopeless Lovers.

Bold Knaves Thrive Without One Grain Of Sense, But Good Men Starve For Want Of Impudence.