They Come Together Like The Coroner's Inquest,

All Well Bred Persons Lie - Besides, You Are A Woman; You Must Never Speak What You Think.

Thus In This Sad, But Oh, Too Pleasing State! My Soul Can Fix Upon Nothing But Thee; Thee It Contemplates, Admires, Adores, Nay Depends On, Trusts On You Alone.

O, She Is The Antidote To Desire.

Delay Not Till Tomorrow To Be Wise; Tomorrow's Sun To Thee May Neve Rise.

There Is In True Beauty, As In Courage, Somewhat Which Narrow Souls Cannot Dare To Admire.