“My love is of a birth as rareAs 'tis, for object, strange and high;It was begotten by DespairUpon Impossibility.”
“Oh, 'tis not my qualities they object to! 'Tis my lack of vice.”
“Gods, gods! 'tis strange that from their cold'st neglectMy love should kindle to inflamed respect.”
“Chorus of old men: How true the saying: 'Tis impossible to live with the baggages, impossible to live without 'em.”
“Tis very strange men should be so fond of being wickeder than they are.”
“Oh! lovely voices of the skyWhich hymned the Saviour's birth,Are ye not singing still on high,Ye that sang, "Peace on earth"?”