Tush! Fear Not, My Lord, We Will

Be Wise As Thou Art Cruel, Do Not Press My Tongue-tied Patience With Too Much Disdain: Lest Sorrow Lend Me Words And Words Express, The Manner Of My Pity-wanting Pain.

For Grief Is Crowned With Consolation.

How Easy It Is For The Proper-false In Woman's Waxen Hearts To Set Their Forms!

By A Divine Instinct, Men's Minds Mistrust Ensuing Danger; As, By Proof, We See The Waters Swell Before A Boisterous Storm.

I Have Very Poor And Unhappy Brains For Drinking: I Could Well Wish Courtesy Would Invent Some Other Custom Of Entertainment.