Wine It Is The Milk Of Venus,

It Is The Highest Of Earthly Honors To Be Descended From The Great And Good. They Alone Cry Out Against A Noble Ancestry Who Have None Of Their Own.

We Are Persons Of Quality, I Assure You, And Women Of Fashion, And Come To See And To Be Seen.

I Feel My Griefs Too, And There Scarce Is Ground Upon My Flesh T'inflict Another Wound. Yet Dare I Not Complain, Or Wish For Death With Holy Paul; Lest It Be Thought The Breath Of Discontent; Or That These Prayers Be For Weariness Of Life, Not Love Of Thee.

Let Those That Merely Talk And Never Think, That Live In The Wild Anarchy Of Drink

Sweet Meat Must Have Sour Sauce.