She Feared No Danger, For She Knew

Time And Death Shall Depart And Say In Flying Love Has Found Out A Way To Live, By Dying.

Dancing Is The Poetry Of The Foot.

An Hour Will Come, With Pleasure To Relate Your Sorrows Past, As Benefits Of Fate.

We Can Never Be Grieved For Their Miseries Who Are Thoroughly Wicked, And Have Thereby Justly Called Their Calamities On Themselves.

The Province Of The Soul Is Large Enough To Fill Up Every Cranny Of Your Time, And Leave You Much To Answer For If One Wretch Be Damned By Your Neglect.