Curst Love! what lengths of tyrant scorn Wreak'st not on those of woman born? - John Conington

Additional quotes by John Conington

May Heaven, if virtue claim its thought,
If justice yet avail for aught; Heaven, and the sense of conscious right, With worthier meed your acts requite!

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We have been Trojans: Troy has been:
She sat, but sits no more, a queen.

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She calls it marriage now; such name
She chooses to conceal her shame.

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