The American people want no rendezvous with a destiny plotted on blueprints in a Washington office. When they have a date with destiny they want to know what the lady looks like.
Sir, I invite your Highness and your train / To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest /For this one night
the ewes great with young
There was no further excitement in such amusements as visiting dirty cottagers! Alas! for human nature, when it assumes the garb of curatolatry. What sacrifices of inclination will women not offer upon that shrine?
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