Wit Must Be Foiled By Wit: Cut

A Hungry Wolf At All The Herd Will Run, In Hopes, Through Many, To Make Sure Of One.

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.

Musick Has Charms To Sooth A Savage Breast...

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

To Converse With Scandal Is To Play At Losing Loadum, You Must Lose A Good Name To Him, Before You Can Win It For Yourself.