Alas, I Am A Woman Friendless, Hopeless!

Gnarling Sorrow Hath Less Power To Bite The Man That Mocks At It And Sets It Light.

Discomfort Guides My Tongue And Bids Me Speak Of Nothing But Despair.

They That Touch Pitch Will Be Defiled.

As Love Is Full Of Unbefitting Strains, All Wanton As A Child, Skipping And Vain, Form'd By The Eye And Therefore, Like The Eye, Full Of Strange Shapes, Of Habits And Of Forms, Varying In Subjects As The Eye Doth Roll To Every Varied Object In His Glance

Hereafter, In A Better World Than This, I Shall Desire More Love And Knowledge Of You