The Hand Of Little Employment

Nothing Teems But Hateful Docks, Rough Thistles, Kecksies, Burs, Losing Both Beauty And Utility.

What Early Tongue So Sweet Saluteth Me?

Live In Thy Shame, But Die Not Shame With Thee!

Sufferance Is The Badge Of All Our Tribe.

I May Neither Choose Who I Would, Nor Refuse Who I Dislike; So Is The Will Of A Living Daughter Curbed By The Will Of A Dead Father.