While we, alas! must still obambulate, Sequacious of the court and courtier's fate : O most infaust who optates there to live! An aulic life no solid joys can give.

Then ſaid Faint-heart, Deliver thy Purſe; but he making no haſte to do it (for he was loth to loſe his Money,) Miſtrust ran up to him, and thruſting his hand into his Pocket, pull'd out thence a bag of Silver.

Style alone does not make a writer.

The deposit is caved by knocking out the posts.