I Find We Are Growing Serious, And

In My Conscience I Believe The Baggage Loves Me, For She Never Speaks Well Of Me Herself, Nor Suffers Any Body Else To Rail At Me.

I Know A Lady That Loves To Talk So Incessantly, She Won't Give An Echo Fair Play; She Has That Everlasting Rotation Of Tongue That An Echo Must Wait Till She Dies Before It Can Catch Her Last Words!

If There's Delight In Love, 'tis When I See That Heart, Which Others Bleed For, Bleed For Me.

To Converse With Scandal Is To Play At Losing Loadum, You Must Lose A Good Name To Him, Before You Can Win It For Yourself.

Who Pleases One Against His Will.