Careless she is with artful care,Affecting to seem unaffected.

Invention flags, his brain goes muddy,And black despair succeeds brown study.

Defer not till tomorrow to be wise,Tomorrow's sun to thee may never rise.

In my conscience I believe the baggage loves me, for she never speaks well of me herself, nor suffers any body else to rail at me.

Hannibal was a very pretty fellow in those days.

I find we are growing serious, and then we are in great danger of being dull.

Eternity was in that moment.

If this be not love, it is madness, and then it is pardonable.

Men are apt to offend ('tis true) where they find most goodness to forgive.

Thus grief still treads upon the heels of pleasure;Married in haste, we may repent at leisure.