Look on beauty, and you shall see 'tis purchased by the weight; which therein works a miracle in Nature, making them lightest that wear most of it: so are those crisped snaky golden locks which make such wanton gambols with the wind upon supposed fairness, often known to be the dowry of a second head, the skull that bred them in the sepulchre.

Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.

Tis not the many oaths that make the truth; But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true.

The brain may devise laws for the blood, but a hot temper leaps o'er a cold decree.

The rest, is silence.

Well could he ride, and often men would say, "That horse his mettle from his rider takes: Proud of subjection, noble by the sway, What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he makes!" And controversy hence a question takes, Whether the horse by him became his deed, Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.

In maiden meditation, fancy free.