O Hell! To Choose Love With Another's

Our Thoughts Are Ours, Their Ends None Of Our Own

Never Durst Poet Touch A Pen To Write Until His Ink Were Temper'd With Love's Sighs.

O, The Difference Of Man And Man! To Thee A Woman's Services Are Due.

Avaunt, You Cullions!

Time Is A Very Bankrupt And Owes More Than He's Worth To Season. Nay, He's A Thief Too: Have You Not Heard Men Say, That Time Comes Stealing On By Night And Day?