Of all the plagues with which the world is curst, Of every ill, a woman is the worst.

Shall Nature, erring from her first command, self-preservation, fall by her own hand?

Marriage the happiest bond of love might be, If hands were only joined when hearts agree.

There is no heaven like mutual love.

Who to a woman trusts his peace of mind, Trusts a frail bark, with a tempestuous wind.

Of all the plagues with which the world is curst, Of every ill, a woman is the worst.

Patience is the virtue of an ass, who treads beneath his burden and complains not.