Maxioms by William Congreve
What, wouldst thou have me turn pelican, and feed thee out of my
own vitals?
What, wouldst thou have me turn pelican, and feed thee out of my
own vitals?
Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
Thy wife is a constellation of virtues; she's the moon, and thou
art the man in the moon.
Thy wife is a constellation of virtues; she's the moon, and thou
art the man in the moon.
By magic numbers and persuasive sound.
By magic numbers and persuasive sound.
Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turn'd,
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turn'd,
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
