Our Lives Are But Our Marches To

Kiss Till The Cow Comes Home.

Envy, Like The Worm, Never Runs But To The Fairest Fruit; Like A Cunning Bloodhound, It Singles Out The Fattest Deer In The Flock.

Let Us Have A Care Not To Disclose Our Hearts To Those Who Shut Up Theirs Against Us.

But What Is Past My Help Is Past My Care.

My Virginity, That From My Childhood Kept Me Company, Is Heavier Than I Can Endure To Bear. Forgive Me, Cupid, For Thou Art God, And I A Wretched Creature: I Have Sinn'd; But Be Thou Merciful, And Grant That Yet I May Enjoy What Thou Wilt Have Me Love!