And Nature Must Obey Necessity.

A Peevish Self-willed Harlotry It Is. *she’s A Stubborn Little Brat.*

So Far Be Distant; And Good Night, Sweet Friend: Thy Love Ne'er Alter, Till They Sweet Life End

Let There Be Gall Enough In Thy Ink, Though Thou Write With A Goose-pen, No Matter.

O, Let My Books Be Then The Eloquence And Dumb Presagers Of My Speaking Breast, Who Plead For Love, And Look For Recompense, More Than That Tongue That More Hath More Expressed.

If You Love An Addle Egg As Well As You Love An Idle Head, You Would Eat Chickens I' Th' Shell.