My Hands Are Guilty, But My Heart

The Perverseness Of My Fate Is Such That He's Not Mine Because He's Mine Too Much.

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.

Joy Rul'd The Day, And Love The Night.

The Blushing Beauties Of A Modest Maid.

We Find Few Historians Who Have Been Diligent Enough In Their Search For Truth; It Is Their Common Method To Take On Trust What They Help Distribute To The Public; By Which Means A Falsehood Once Received From A Famed Writer Becomes Traditional To Posterity.