Some Fleeting Good, That Mocks Me With

I Learn Several Great Truths; As That It Is Impossible To See Into The Ways Of Futurity, That Punishment Always Attends The Villain, That Love Is The Fond Soother Of The Human Breast.

As For Murmurs, Mother, We Grumble A Little Now And Then, To Be Sure; But There's No Love Lost Between Us.

All His Faults Are Such That One Loves Him Still The Better For Them.

Remote, Unfriended, Melancholy, Slow, Or By The Lazy Scheld Or Wandering Po.

For The First Time, The Best May Err, Art May Persuade, And Novelty Spread Out Its Charms. The First Fault Is The Child Of Simplicity; But Every Other The Offspring Of Guilt.