Let The Galled Jade Wince; Our Withers

I May Neither Choose Who I Would, Nor Refuse Who I Dislike; So Is The Will Of A Living Daughter Curbed By The Will Of A Dead Father.

In Thy Youth Wast As True A Lover, As Ever Sighed Upon A Midnight Pillow

There's Many A Man Hath More Hair Than Wit.

My Friends Were Poor, But Honest, So's My Love.

O, I Have Suffered With Those That I Saw Suffer! A Brave Vessel (who Had No Doubt Some Noble Creature In Her) Dashed All To Pieces! O, The Cry Did Knock Against My Very Heart! Poor Souls, They Perished!