Excerpt from She.

She is.

She is a bad merchant.

She is afeard that my Lady Castlemaine will keep still with the King, and I am afeard she will not, for I love her well.

She is a fine confident lady, I think, but not so pretty as I once thought her.

She is a hoary pandemonium of ills, enlarged glands, mumps, quinsy, bunions, hayfever, bedsores, ringworm, floating kidney, Derbyshire neck, warts, bilious attacks, gallstones, cold feet, varicose veins.

She is a little plain woman, a Dane: her name, Ursula Dyan; about forty years old; her voice like a little girl's; with a beard as much as any man I ever saw, black almost, and grizly; they offered to shew my wife further satisfaction if she desired it, refusing it to men that desired it there, but there is no doubt but by her voice she is a woman; it begun to grow at about seven years old, and was shaved not above seven months ago, and is now so big as any man's almost that ever I saw; I say, bushy and thick.

She is a mighty proper maid, and pretty comely, but so so; but hath a most pleasing tone of voice, and speaks handsomely, but hath most great hands, and I believe ugly; but very well dressed, and good clothes, and the maid I believe will please me well enough.

She is an Angel!

She is, at least seems, in mighty trouble for her husband at sea, when I am sure she cares not for him, and I would not undeceive her, though I know his ship is one of those that is not gone, but left behind without men.

She is a tree of life to them that lay hold upon her: and happy is every one that retaineth her.

She is a very fine woman, and what with her person and the number of fine ladies that were with her, I was much out of countenance, and could hardly carry myself like a man among them; but however, I staid till my courage was up again, and talked to them, and viewed her house, which is most pleasant, and so drank and good-night.

She is a very good companion as long as she is well.

She is a very good companion as long as she is well.

She is a very good companion as long as she is well.

She is ballasted with utilities; not altogether with unusable pig-lead and kentledge.

She is coated with quite a considerable layer of fat.

She is come to put out her sister and brothers to school at Putney.

She is conceited that she do well already.

She is conceited that she do well already.

She is conceited that she do well already.

"`She is dead,' said I."

SHE IS DRESSED IN A THREEQUARTER IVORY GOWN, FRINGED ROUND THE HEM WITH TASSELLED SELVEDGE, AND COOLS HERSELF FLIRTING A BLACK HORN FAN LIKE MINNIE HAUCK IN Carmen.

She is drowning.

She is either a very prodigal woman, or richer than she would be thought, by her buying of the best things, and laying out much money in new-fashioned pewter; and, among other things, a new-fashioned case for a pair of snuffers, which is very pretty; but I could never have guessed what it was for, had I not seen the snuffers in it.

She is empty, and void, and waste: and the heart melteth, and the knees smite together, and much pain is in all loins, and the faces of them all gather blackness.

She is everything to me; more to me than suffering, more to me than wrong, more to me--Well!

She is five years younger than I, and she lives in a farmer's house in the south country.

She is frequently mentioned in the "Memoires de Grammont," and in the letters of the second Earl of Chesterfield.

She is going to be married.

She is going to lodgings, and do tell me very odde stories how Mrs. Williams do receive the applications of people, and hath presents, and she is the hand that receives all, while my Lord Bruncker do the business, which will shortly come to be loud talk if she continues here, I do foresee, and bring my Lord no great credit.

She is gone abroad with him to-day, very fine.

She is gone yesterday with her Lord to Cobham.

She is greatly distressed; but her father is comforting her, and she feels the better for being out of court.

She is great with child, and she says I must be godfather, but I do not intend it.

She is grown tall, but looks very white and thin, and I can find no occasion while I am here to come to have her company, which I desire and expected in my coming, but only coming out of the church I kissed her and her sister and mother-in-law.

She is hardened against her young ones, as though they were not her's: her labour is in vain without fear; Because God hath deprived her of wisdom, neither hath he imparted to her understanding.

She is indeed black, and hath good black little eyes, but otherwise but a very ordinary woman I do think, but they say sings well.

She is, it seems, very near akin to the King: Such mad doings there are every day among them!

She is like the merchants' ships; she bringeth her food from afar.

(She is loud and stubborn; her feet abide not in her house: Now is she without, now in the streets, and lieth in wait at every corner.)

She is more precious than rubies: and all the things thou canst desire are not to be compared unto her.

She is more taking then.

She is my sister, Doctor.

She is not afraid of the snow for her household: for all her household are clothed with scarlet.

She is not overhandsome, though a good lady, and one I love.

She is not the filly that she was.

She is now at a Taverne and stays all night, so I was obliged to give him my house and chamber to lie in, which he with great modesty and after much force took, and so I got Mr. Evelyn's coach to carry her thither, and the coach coming back, I with Mr. Evelyn to Deptford, where a little while with him doing a little business, and so in his coach back again to my lodgings, and there sat with Mrs. Ferrers two hours, and with my little girle, Mistress Frances Tooker, and very pleasant.

"She isn't so much," he said; but in his heart of hearts he did not believe this.

She is old, but hath, I believe, been a pretty comely woman:

She is our great sweet mother.

She is poor in clothes, and not bred to any carriage, but will be soon taught all, and if Mercer do not come again, I think we may have her upon better terms, and breed her to what we please.

She is pretty, and a girl for that, and her relations, I love.

She is pretty, and a modest, brown girle.

She is quite nicey comfy without her outcast man, madame in rue Git-le-Coeur, canary and two buck lodgers.

She is quite weary of the country, but cannot get her husband to let her live here any more, which troubles her mightily.

She is rather lean.

She is reckoned worth L80,000.

She is returning into the North to her children, where, I perceive, her husband hath clearly got the mastery of her, and she is likely to spend her days there, which for her sake I am a little sorry for, though for his it is but fit she should live where he hath a mind.

She is right, our sister.

She is right, our sister.

She is said to be the heroine of some of the adventures.

She is the bride of darkness, a daughter of night.

She is to come next week.

She is very big, and resolves I must be godfather.

She is very ugly, so that I cannot care for her, but otherwise she seems very good.

She is very well got thither, of which I am heartily glad.

She is worth, and will be at her mother's death (who keeps but a little from her), L2500 per annum.

She is wretched poor; and but ordinary favoured; and we fain to lay out seven or eight pounds worth of clothes upon her back, which, methinks, do go against my heart; and I do not think I can ever esteem her as I could have done another that had come fine and handsome; and which is more, her voice, for want of use, is so furred, that it do not at present please me; but her manner of singing is such, that I shall, I think, take great pleasure in it.

She is yours!