Put Forth Thy Hand, Reach At The

Can It Be Chat Modesty May More Betray Our Sense Than Woman's Lightness?

To Be Furious, Is To Be Frighted Out Of Fear.

Look, The World's Comforter, With Weary Gait, His Day's Hot Task Hath Ended In The West: The Owl, Night's Herald, Shrieks-'tis Very Late; The Sheep Are Gone To Fold, Birds To Their Nest; And Coal-black Clouds, That Shadow Heaven's Light, Do Summon Us To Part, And Bid Good Night.

Scorn, At First, Makes After-love The More.

Delay Leads Impotent And Snail-paced Beggary.