Alas, I Am A Woman Friendless, Hopeless!

I Have Of Late--but Wherefore I Know Not--lost All My Mirth, Forgone All Custom Of Exercise.

My Life, My Joy, My Food, My Ail The World!

The Iron Tongue Of Midnight Hath Told Twelve Lovers, To Bed; 'tis Almost Fairy Time. I Fear We Shall Outstep The Coming Morn As Much As We This Night Over-watch'd.

The Instruments Of Darkness Tell Us Truths.

Things Won Are Done, Joy's Soul Lies In The Doing.