What A Strange Scene If The Surge

Affection Can Withstand Very Severe Storms Of Vigor, But Not A Long Polar Frost Of Indifference.

The Rose Is Fairest When 't Is Budding New, And Hope Is Brightest When It Dawns From Fears. The Rose Is Sweetest Wash'd With Morning Dew, And Love Is Loveliest When Embalm'd In Tears.

Honour Is A Homicide And A Bloodspiller, That Gangs About Making Frays In The Street; But Credit Is A Decent Honest Man, That Sits At Hame And Makes The Pat Play.

No Scene Of Mortal Life But Teems With Mortal Woe.

Come He Slow Or Come He Fast It Is But Death That Comes At Last