To Be Furious, Is To Be Frighted

Thou Art The Best O' The Cut-throats

Our Fancies Are More Giddy And Unfirm, More Longing, Wavering, Sooner Lost And Won, Than Women's Are.

Vice Repeated Is Like The Wandering Wind, Blows Dust In Others' Eyes To Spread Itself.

Young Men's Love Then Lies Not Truly In Their Hearts, But In Their Eyes.

What The Vengeance, Could He Not Speak 'em Fair?