The blushing beauties of a modest maid.
Whatever is, is in its causes just.
It's a hard world, neighbors, if a man's oath must be his master.
…So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky
None are so busy as the fool and the knave.
Shame on the body for breaking down while the spirit perseveres.