Books were put out, and 'had a run,' / Like coinage from the mint; / But which could fill the place of one, / That one they wouldn't print?

But alas for the dreams that round us play! / For the plans of mortal making! / And alas for the false and fickle day / That looked so fair at waking!

Women are only told that they resemble angels when they are young and beautiful; consequently, it is their persons, not their virtues, that procure them homage.

Give plenty of what is given to you, And listen to pity's call. Don't think the little you give is great, And the much you get is small.

Never is true love blind, but rather brings an added light.

Only yield when you must, never "give up the ship," but fight on to the last "with a stiff upper lip!

O men, grown sick with toil and care, Leave for awhile the crowded mart; O women, sinking with despair, Weary of limb and faint of heart, Forget your years to-day and come As children back to childhood's house.