He Wears His Faith But As The

Love All, Trust A Few, Do Wrong To None.

I Must To The Barber's, Monsieur, For Methinks I Am Marvellous Hairy About The Face.

To Be Generous, Guiltless, And Of A Free Disposition Is To Take Those Things For Bird-bolts That You Deem Cannon-bullets.

He That Filches From Me My Good Name Robs Me Of That Which Enriches Him And Makes Me Poor Indeed.

Art Thou Not, Fatal Vision, Sensible To Feelings As To Sight?