O, She Is The Antidote To Desire.

A Wit Should No More Be Sincere, Than A Woman Constant; One Argues A Decay Of Parts, As To Other Of Beauty.

I Nauseate Walking; 'tis A Country Diversion, I Loathe The Country.

Blessings Ever Wait On Virtuous Deeds, And Though A Late, A Sure Reward Succeeds.

How Hard A Thing 'twould Be To Please You All.

To Find A Young Fellow That Is Neither A Wit In His Own Eye, Nor A Fool In The Eye Of The World, Is A Very Hard Task.