As Poetry Is The Harmony Of Words,

Her Wit Was More Than Man, Her Innocence A Child.

Beware The Fury Of A Patient Man.

For My Part, I Can Compare Her (a Gossip) To Nothing But The Sun; For, Like Him, She Knows No Rest, Nor Ever Sets In One Place But To Rise In Another.

A Lazy Frost, A Numbness Of The Mind.

All Heiresses Are Beautiful.