O Fie, Miss, You Must Not Kiss

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!

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.

Words Are The Weak Support Of Cold Indifference; Love Has No Language To Be Heard.

Guilt Is Ever At A Loss, And Confusion Waits Upon It; When Innocence And Bold Truth Are Always Ready For Expression.

Fear Comes From Uncertainty. When We Are Absolutely Certain, Whether Of Our Worth Or Worthlessness, We Are Almost Impervious To Fear.