Thus in this sad, but oh, too pleasing state! my soul can fix upon nothing but thee; thee it contemplates, admires, adores, nay depends on, trusts on you alone.

No mask like open truth to cover lies, As to go naked is the best disguise.

Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn'd.

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

No, I'm no enemy to learning; it hurts not me.

A little scorn is alluring.

A woman only obliges a man to secrecy, that she may have the pleasure of telling herself.