Angels Are Bright Still, Though

My Tongue Will Tell The Anger Of My Heart, Or Else My Heart Concealing It Will Break.

I Fill Up A Place, Which May Be Better... When I Have Made It Empty.

I Cannot Draw A Cart, Nor Eat Dried Oats; If It Be Man's Work, I'll Do't.

Rashly, And Praised Be Rashness For It--let Us Know, Our Indiscretion Sometime Serves Us Well When Our Deep Plots Do Pall, And That Should Learn Us There's A Divinity That Shapes Our Ends, Rough-hew Them How We Will

To Be Slow In Words Is A Woman's Only Virtue.