Beauty is the lover's gift.

Whoever is king, is also the father of his country.

Women like flames have a destroying power; never to be quenched till they themselves devour.

Honor is a public enemy, and conscience a domestic, and he that would secure his pleasure, must pay a tribute to one and go halves with t'other.

Love's but a frailty of the mind, When 'tis not with ambition joined.

Thus in this sad, but oh, too pleasing state! my soul can fix upon nothing but thee; thee it contemplates, admires, adores, nay depends on, trusts on you alone.

O fie, miss, you must not kiss and tell.