Go To You Bosom: Knock There, And

The Play's The Thing.

If I May Trust The Flattering Truth Of Sleep, My Dreams Presage Some Joyful News At Hand. My Bosom's Lord Sits Lightly In His Throne, And All This Day An Unaccustomed Spirit Lifts Me Above The Ground With Cheerful Thoughts.

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

Two Women Placed Together Makes Cold Weather.

The Wound Of Peace Is Surety, Surety Secure.