None Is Borne Master.

Wine-counsels Seldome Prosper.

Grief Melts Away Like Snow In May, As If There Were No Such Cold Thing.

The Scalded Head Feares Cold Water.

How Wide Is All This Long Pretense! There Is In Love A Sweetness Ready Penned, Copy Out Only That, And Save Expense.

I Read, And Sigh, And Wish I Were A Tree; For Sure Then I Should Grow To Fruit Or Shade: At Least Some Bird Would Trust Her Household To Me, And I Should Be Just.