Thursday Come, And The Week's Gone.

Punishment Is Lame, But It Comes.

A Poore Beauty Finds More Lovers Then Husbands.

Conversation Makes One What He Is.

I Read, And Sigh, And Wish I Were A Tree; For Sure Then I Should Grow To Fruit Or Shade: At Least Some Bird Would Trust Her Household To Me, And I Should Be Just.

A Fair Day In Winter Is The Mother Of A Storme.