O Polly, You Might Have Toyed And

If With Me You'd Fondly Stray Over The Hills And Far Away.

Is There No Hope? The Sick Man Said, The Silent Doctor Shook His Head, And Took His Leave With Signs Of Sorrow, Despairing Of His Fee To-morrow.

To Friendship Every Burden's Light.

Envy's A Sharper Spur Than Pay: No Author Ever Spar'd A Brother; Wits Are Gamecocks To One Another.

Fair Is The Kingcup That In Meadow Blows, Fair Is The Daisy That Beside Her Grows.