Highly fed and lowly taught.

Yea from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records.

A ministering angel shall my sister be.

These words are razors to my wounded heart.

Yet but three come one more. Two of both kinds make up four. Ere she comes curst and sad. Cupid is a knavish lad. Thus to make poor females mad.

The earth, that is nature's mother, is her tomb.

Some men never seem to grow old. Always active in thought, always ready to adopt new ideas, they are never chargeable with foggyism. Satisfied, yet ever dissatisfied, settled, yet ever unsettled, they always enjoy the best of what is, are the first to find the best of what will be.