In Thy Foul Throat Thou Liest.

It Is The Cowish Terror Of His Spirit That Dares Not Undertake; He'll Not Feel Wrongs Which Tie Him To An Answer.

My Grief Lies Onward, And My Joy Behind.

To Persevere In Obstinate Condolement Is A Course Of Impious Stubbornness: 'tis Unmanly Grief.

By That Sin Fell The Angels.

Gentle And Low, An Excellent Thing In Woman.