Fill All Thy Bones With

Women Being The Weaker Vessels, Are Ever Thrust To The Walls.

I Am One, My Liege, Whom The Vile Blows And Buffets Of The World Have So Incensed That I Am Reckless What I Do To Spite The World.

Wait For The Season When To Cast Good Counsels Upon Subsiding Passion.

No, I Will Be The Pattern Of All Patience; I Will Say Nothing.

Love Runs Away From Those Chasing Her, And Those Who Run Away, She Throws Herself On His Neck.