Ay, Is It Not A Language I

Thou Art A Slave, Whom Fortune's Tender Arm With Favour Never Clasp'd; But Bred A Dog.

I Am Not Prone To Weeping As Our Sex Commonly Are; The Want Of Which Vain Dew Perchance Shall Dry Your Pities; But I Have That Honorable Grief Lodged Here Which Burns Worse Than Tears Drown.

I Drink To The General Joy O’ The Whole Table." Macbeth

The Curse Of Marriage That We Can Call These Delicate Creatures Ours And Not Their Appetites!

The Dear Father Would With His Daughter Speak, Commands Her Service; Are They Inform'd Of This?