You might sooner tear a Pension out of the Hands of a Courtier, a Fee from a Lawyer, a pretty Woman from a Looking-glass, or any Woman from Quadrille.—But to tear me from thee is impossible!
The Turtle thus with plaintive Crying,
Her Lover dying,
The Turtle thus with plaintive Crying,
Laments her Dove.
Down she drops quite spent with Sighing.
Pair’d in Death, as pair’d in Love.
"I did not marry him (as ’tis the Fashion) coolly and deliberately for Honour or Money. But, I love him."
"Love him! worse and worse! I thought the Girl had been better bred."
Had you been hang’d, it would not have vex’d me, for that might have been your Misfortune; but to do such a mad thing by Choice; The Wench is married, Husband.