If all the year were playing holidays, to sport would be as tedious as >>
Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. >>
Many can brook the weather that love not the wind. >>
I do desire we may be better strangers. >>
It was his peculiar happiness that he scarcely ever found a stranger w >>
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorned; By strangers honored, and b >>
I do desire we may be better strangers.