William Congreve

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.

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?

And the prettiest foot! Oh, if a man could but fasten his eyes
to her feet, as they steal read more

And the prettiest foot! Oh, if a man could but fasten his eyes
to her feet, as they steal in and out, and play at bo-peep under
her petticoats!

Blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, and though a late, a sure reward succeeds.

Blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds, and though a late, a sure reward succeeds.

For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds,
And though a late, a sure reward succeeds.

For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds,
And though a late, a sure reward succeeds.