The Violence Of Either Grief Or Joy,

Thou Art An Elm, My Husband, I A Vine.

Let Each Man Do His Best.

The Best Quarrels, In The Heat, Are Cursed By Those That Feel Their Sharpness.

Such An Act That Blurs The Grace And Blush Of Modesty; Calls Virtue Hypocrite; Takes Off The Rose From The Fair Forehead Of An Innocent Love, And Sets A Blister There; Makes Marriage Vows As False As Dicers' Oaths.

Lord, Lord, How Subject We Old Men Are To This Vice Of Lying!