Love-quarrels Oft In Pleasing Concord End.

Who Would Not, Finding Way, Break Loose From Hell, . . . . And Boldly Venture To Whatever Place Farthest From Pain?

O Visions Ill Foreseen! Better Had I Liv'd Ignorant Of Future, So Had Borne My Part Of Evil Only.

What Honour That, But Tedious Waste Of Time, To Sit And Hear So Many Hollow Compliments And Lies.

In Argument With Men A Woman Ever Goes By The Worse, Whatever Be Her Cause.

Heaven Is As The Book Of God Before Thee Set, Wherein To Read His Wondrous Works.