If We From Wealth To Poverty Descend,

Every Language Is So Full Of Its Own Proprieties That What Is Beautiful In One Is Often Barbarous, Nay, Sometimes Nonsense, In Another.

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

Parting Is Worse Than Death; It Is Death Of Love!

For What Can Power Give More Than Food And Drink, To Live At Ease, And Not Be Bound To Think?

A Man May Be Capable, As Jack Ketch's Wife Said Of His Servant, Of A Plain Piece Of Work, A Bare Hanging; But To Makea Malefactordiesweetly Was Only Belonging Toher Husband.