Give me, kind heaven, a private station, a mind serene for contemplation.

The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets.

But his kiss was so sweet, and so closely he pressed, that I languished and pined till I granted the rest.

What then in love can woman do? If we grow fond they shun us. And when we fly them, they pursue: But leave us when they've won us.

O Polly, you might have toyed and kissed, by keeping men off, you keep them on.

Woman's mind Oft' shifts her passions, like th'inconstant wind; Sudden she rages, like the troubled main, Now sinks the storm, and all is calm again.

The charge is prepared; the lawyers are met; The judges all ranged (a terrible show!) I go, undismay'd. For death is a debt, A debt on demand. So take what I owe.