At This Hour Lie At My Mercy

When Love Begins To Sicken And Decay It Uses An Enforced Ceremony.

Methinks Sometimes I Have No More Wit Than A Christian.

Out Of This Nettle - Danger - We Pluck This Flower - Safety.

Let Still Woman Take An Elder Than Herself: So Wears She To Him, So Sways She Level In Her Husband's Heart, For, Boy, However We Do Praise Ourselves, Our Fancies Are More Giddy And Unfirm, More Longing, Wavering, Sooner To Be Lost And Warn, Than Women's Are.

This Is The Third Time; I Hope Good Luck Lies In Odd Numbers. Away; Go. They Say There Is Divinity In Odd Numbers, Either In Nativity, Chance, Or Death.