My Father's Wit, And My Mother's Tongue,

My Purpose Is, Indeed, A Horse Of That Color.

Crack'd In Pieces By Malignant Death.

Grief Makes One Hour Ten.

Thou Art An Elm, My Husband, I A Vine, Whose Weakness, Married To Thy Stronger State, Makes Me With Thy Strength To Communicate.

Great Griefs Medicine The Less.