Women Are Not In Their Best Fortunes

I Am Wrapped In Dismal Thinking.

Would The Cook Were O' My Mind!

Like As The Waves Make Towards The Pebbled Shore, So Do Our Minutes Hasten To Their End; Each Changing Place With That Which Goes Before, In Sequent Toil All Forwards Do Contend.

Do You Not Know I Am A Woman? When I Think, I Must Speak.

Now 'tis Spring, And Weeds Are Shallow-rooted; Suffer Them Now And They'll O'ergrow The Garden.