Under Loves Heavy Burden Do I Sink.

My Love Is Thine To Teach; Teach It But How, And Thou Shalt See How Apt It Is To Learn. Any Hard Lesson That May Do Thee Good.

Temptation Is The Fire That Brings Up The Scum Of The Heart.

I See That The Fashion Wears Out More Apparel Than The Man.

I Have Nothing Of Woman In Me; Now From Head To Foot I Am Marble-constant.

Therefore I Tell My Sorrows To The Stones; Who, Though They Cannot Answer My Distress, Yet In Some Sort They Are Better Than The Tribunes, For That They Will Not Intercept My Tale: When I Do Weep, They Humbly At My Feet Receive My Tears And Seem To Weep With Me; And, Were They But Attired In Grave Weeds, Rome Could Afford No Tribune Like To These.