In my conscience I believe the baggage loves me, for she never speaks well of me herself, nor suffers any body else to rail at me.

They are at the end of the gallery; retired to their tea and scandal, according to their ancient custom.

I am a fool, I know it; and yet, Heaven help me, I'm poor enough to be a wit.

Some by experience find those words mis-placed: At leisure married, they repent in haste.

Women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand

Delay not till tomorrow to be wise; tomorrow's sun to thee may neve rise.

These articles subscribed, if I continue to endure you a little longer, I may by degrees dwindle into wife.