The Hermit. On Woman. Chap. xxiv.

The only art her guilt to cover,

To hide her shame from every eye,

To give repentance to her lover,

And wring his bosom, is—to die.

The Hermit. On Woman. Chap. xxiv.

To what fortuitous occurrence do we not owe every pleasure and convenience of our lives.

The Hermit. On Woman. Chap. xxi.

For he who fights and runs away

May live to fight another day;