In Beauty Faults Conspicuous Grow; The Smallest

Fools May Our Scorn, Not Envy, Raise. For Envy Is A Kind Of Praise.

Good Housewives All The Winter's Rage Despise, Defended By The Riding-hood's Disguise; Or, Underneath The Umbrella's Oily Shade, Safe Through The Wet On Clinking Pattens Tread, Let Persian Dames The Unbrella's Ribs Display, To Guard Their Beauties From The Sunny Ray; Or Sweating Slaves Support The Shady Load, When Eastern Monarchs Show Their State Abroad; Britain In Winter Only Knows Its Aid, To Guard From Chilling Showers The Walking Maid.

One Wife Is Too Much For Most Husbands To Bear, But Two At A Time There's No Mortal Can Bear.

Breathe Soft, Ye Winds! Ye Waves, In Silence Sleep!

Whence Is Thy Learning? Hath Thy Toil O'er Books Consumed The Midnight Oil?