In Love We Are All Fools Alike.

Variety's The Source Of Joy Below, From Whence Still Fresh-revolving Pleasures Flow, In Books And Love The Mind One End Pursues, And Only Change The Expiring Flames Renews.

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

If The Heart Of A Man Is Depressed With Cares, The Mist Is Dispelled When A Woman Appears.

Who Talks Much, Must Talk In Vain.

The Sun Was Set; The Night Came On Apace, And Falling Dews Bewet Around The Place; The Bat Takes Airy Rounds On Leathern Wings, And The Hoarse Owl His Woeful Dirges Sings.