I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move.
So will I turn her virtue into pitch, And out of her own goodness make the net That shall enmesh them all.
For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?
With caution judge of probability. Things deemed unlikely, e'en impossible, experience oft hath proved to be true.
A woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress her not.
O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention.