Women Being The Weaker Vessels, Are Ever

Enjoy The Honey-heavy Dew Of Slumber.

I Thought My Heart Had Been Wounded With The Claws Of A Lion.

This Sleep Is Sound Indeed; This Is A Sleep That From This Golden Rigol Hath Divorc'd So Many English Kings.

The Thorny Point Of Bare Distress Hath Ta'en From Me The Show Of Smooth Civility; Yet Am I Inland Bred And Know Some Nurture.

On Pain Of Death, No Person Be So Bold.