Why, There's A Wench! Come On, And

As You From Crimes Would Pardon'd Be, Let Your Indulgence Set Me Free.

Lord, I Could Not Endure A Husband With A Beard On His Face! I Had Rather Lie In The Woolen.

Delivers In Such Apt And Gracious Words That Aged Ears Play Truant At His Tales; And Younger Hearings Are Quite Ravished; So Sweet And Voluble Is His Discourse.

Would It Not Grieve A Woman To Be Over-mastered By A Piece Of Valiant Dust? To Make An Account Of Her Life To A Clod Of Wayward Marle?

Tis The Eye Of Childhood That Fears A Painted Devil.