Tis In Ourselves That We

Tear-falling Pity Dwells Not In This Eye.

A Woman's Thought Runs Before Her Actions.

There's Villainous News Abroad.

You May My Glories And My State Depose, But Not My Griefes; Still Am I King Of Those.

I Have Not Slept. Between The Acting Of A Dreadful Thing And The First Motion, All The Interim Is Like A Phantasma, Or A Hideous Dream: The Genius And The Mortal Instruments Are Then In Council; And The State Of Man, Like To A Little Kingdom, Suffers Then The Nature Of An Insurrection.