If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.
Sweet words are like honey, a little may refresh, but too much gluts the stomach.
Let Greeks be Greeks, and women what they are.
Art can do much, but this maxim's most sure/A weak or wounded brain admits no cure.
I am obnoxious to each carping tongue/ Who says my hand a needle better fits./ A poet's pen all scorn I should thus wrong/ For such despite they cast on female wits;/ If what I do prove well, it won't advance,/ They'll say it's stolen, or else, it was by chance.
I happy am, if well with you.