Love Is Too Young To Know What

I Have Ventured, Like Little Wanton Boys That Swim On Bladders, This Many Summers In A Sea Of Glory, But Far Beyond My Depth. My High-blown Pride At Length Broke Under Me, And Now Has Left Me, Weary And Old With Service, To The Mercy Of A Rude Stream That Must For Ever Hide Me.

I'll Be Supposed Upon A Book, His Face Is The Worst Thing About Him.

A Nun Of Winter's Sisterhood Kisses Not More Religiously; The Very Ice Of Chastity Is In Them.

A Peevish Self-willed Harlotry It Is. *she’s A Stubborn Little Brat.*

There Is No Such Sport As Sport By Sport O'erthrown.