Say What You Will, 'tis Better To

Thus In This Sad, But Oh, Too Pleasing State! My Soul Can Fix Upon Nothing But Thee; Thee It Contemplates, Admires, Adores, Nay Depends On, Trusts On You Alone.

There Are Come Critics So With Spleen Diseased, They Scarcely Come Inclining To Be Pleased: And Sure He Must Have More Than Mortal Skill, Who Please One Against His Will.

No Mask Like Open Truth To Cover Lies, As To Go Naked Is The Best Disguise.

Though Marriage Makes Man And Wife One Flesh, It Leaves 'em Still Two Fools.

Let Us Be Very Strange And Well-bred:let Us Be As Strange As If We Had Been Married A Great While;and As Well-bred As If We Were Not Married At All.