Women Being The Weaker Vessels, Are Ever

At This Hour Lie At My Mercy All Mine Enemies.

Hot Lavender, Mints, Savory, Marjoram; The Marigold, That Goes To Bed Wi' The Sun, And With Him Rise Weeping.

Glory Is Like A Circle In The Water, Which Never Ceaseth To Enlarge Itself, Till, By Broad Spreading, It Disperse To Naught.

Fishes Live In The Sea, As Men Do A-land; The Great Ones Eat Up The Little Ones.

I Can No Other Answer Make, But, Thanks, And Thanks.