Every Woman Is At Heart A Rake.

The Heart Resolves This Matter In A Trice, "men Only Feel The Smart, But Not The Vice.

Wit In Conversation Is Only A Readiness Of Thought And A Facility Of Expression, Or A Quick Conception And An Easy Delivery.

With Sharpen'd Sight Pale Antiquaries Pore, Th' Inscription Value, But The Rust Adore. This The Blue Varnish, That The Green Endears; The Sacred Rust Of Twice Ten Hundred Years.

Who Pants For Glory, Finds But Short Repose; A Breath Revives Him, Or A Breath O'erthrows.

Is There No Bright Reversion In The Sky, For Those Who Greatly Think Or Bravely Die?