Forgive What You Can't Excuse.

My Health Is So Often Impaired That I Begin To Be As Weary Of It As Mending Old Lace; When It Is Patched In One Place, It Breaks Out In Another.

It's In No Way My Interest (according To The Common Acceptance Of That Word) To Convince The World Of Their Errors; That Is, I Shall Get Nothing From It But The Private Satisfaction Of Having Done Good To Mankind, And I Know Nobody That Reckons That Satisfaction Any Part Of Their Interest.

Nature Is Indeed A Specious Ward, Nay, There Is A Great Deal In It If It Is Properly Understood And Applied, But I Cannot Bear To Hear People Using It To Justify What Common Sense Must Disavow. Is Not Nature Modifed By Art In Many Things? Was It Not Designed To Be So? And Is It Not Happy For Human Society That It Is So? Would You Like To See Your Husband Let His Beard Grow, Until He Would Be Obliged To Put The End Of It In His Pocket, Because This Beard Is The Gift Of Nature?

The Pious Farmer, Who Ne'er Misses Pray'rs, With Patience Suffers Unexpected Rain; He Blesses Heav'n For What Its Bounty Spares, And Sees, Resign'd, A Crop Of Blighted Grain. But, Spite Of Sermons, Farmers Would Blaspheme, If A Star Fell To Set Their Thatch On Flame.

Be Plain In Dress, And Sober In Your Diet; In Short, My Deary, Kiss Me, And Be Quiet.