Short Summers Lightly Have A Forward Spring.

I Could Be Well Content To Entertain The Lag-end Of My Life With Quiet Hours.

He Was Met Even Now As Mad As The Vex'd Sea; Singing Aloud; Crown'd With Rank Fumiter And Furrow-weeds, With Bur-docks, Hemlock, Nettles, Cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, And All The Idle Weeds That Grow In Our Sustaining Corn.

There Was Never Yet Philosopher That Could Endure The Toothache Patiently

Time, That Takes Survey Of All The World, Must Have A Stop.

Ask God For Temp'rance. That's Th' Appliance Only Which Your Disease Requires.