Each Moment Of A Happy Lover's Hour

Tis Love Alone Can Make Our Fetters Please.

All I Ask, Is The Privilege For My Masculine Part The Poet In Me.... If I Must Not, Because Of My Sex, Have This Freedom... I Lay Down My Quill And You Shall Hear No More Of Me.

Women In London Are Like The Rich Silks; They Are Out Of Fashion A Great While Before They Wear Out.

Come Away; Poverty's Catching.

Here Lies A Proof That Wit Can Never Be Defence Enough Against Mortality