Tis A Happy Thing To Be The

I Were Better To Be Eaten To Death With A Rust Than To Be Scoured To Nothing With Perpetual Motion.

Time Is Like A Fashionable Host That Slightly Shakes His Parting Guest By The Hand, And With His Arm Outstretch'd, As He Would Fly, Grasps In The Comer.

Vice Repeated Is Like The Wandering Wind, Blows Dust In Others' Eyes To Spread Itself.

Our Content Is Our Best Having.

But I Remember Now I Am In This Earthly World, Where To Do Harm Is Often Laudable, To Do Good Sometime Accounted Dangerous Folly.