Honor Is But An Empty Bubble.

The Poorest Of The Sex Have Still An Itch To Know Their Fortunes, Equal To The Rich. The Dairy-maid Inquires, If She Shall Take The Trusty Tailor, And The Cook Forsake.

Like Pilgrims To Th' Appointed Place We Tend; The World's An Inn, And Death The Journey's End.

If You Have Lived, Take Thankfully The Past. Make, As You Can, The Sweet Remembrance Last.

If Passion Rules, How Weak Does Reason Prove!

Such Subtle Covenants Shall Be Made,till Peace It Self Is War In Masquerade.