He Kills Her In Her Own Humor.

Time Shall Unfold What Plaited Cunning Hides: Who Cover Faults, At Last Shame Them Derides.

Behold The Threaden Sails, Borne With The Invisible And Creeping Wind, Draw The Huge Bottoms Through The Furrow'd Sea, Breasting The Lofty Surge

Love Is Familiar. Love Is A Devil. There Is No Evil Angel But Love." -

A Poor Thing, Perhaps, But My Own.

I Have A Kind Soul That Would Give You Thanks. And Knows Not How To Do It But With Tears.