Love reigns a very tyrant in my heart.
Shining through tears, like April suns in showers, that labor to overcome the cloud that loads em.
Dame Fortune, like most others of the female sex, is generally most indulgent to the nimble-mettled blockheads.
No praying, it spoils business.
Could my griefs speak, the tale would have no end.
Base natures ever judge a thing above them, and hate a power they are too much obliged to.