Love Laughs At Locksmiths.

Thou Frothy Tickle-brained Hedge-pig!

Grief Hath Two Tongues; And Never Woman Yet Could Rule Them Both Without Ten Women's Wit.

Cupid Is A Knavish Lad, Thus To Make Poor Females Mad.

Cordelia! Stay A Little. Ha! What Is't Thou Say'st? Her Voice Was Ever Soft.

The Private Wound Is Deepest. O Time Most Accurst, 'mongst All Foes That A Friend Should Be The Worst!