Is She Not Passing Fair?

Eternity Was In Our Lips And Eyes, Bliss In Our Brows' Bent; None Our Parts So Poor But Was A Race Of Heaven.

France Is A Dog-hole, And It No More Merits The Tread Of A Man's Foot.

I Have Very Poor And Unhappy Brains For Drinking: I Could Well Wish Courtesy Would Invent Some Other Custom Of Entertainment.

Honor's Thought Reigns Solely In The Breast Of Every Man.

You Speak Like A Green Girl / Unsifted In Such Perilous Circumstances.