It is a troublesome thing, Halford, this susceptibility to affronts where none are intended.

I've grown tired of love
You are the trouble with me
I watch you walk right by

I've grown tired of loveYou are the trouble with meI watch you walk right by

Adieu! but let me cherish, still, The hope with which I cannot part. Contempt may wound, and coldness chill, But still it lingers in my heart. And who can tell but Heaven, at last, May answer all my thousand prayers, And bid the future pay the past With joy for anguish, smiles for tears?

When I tell you not to marry without love, I do not advise you to marry for love alone - there are many, many other things to be considered.

I cannot get him to write or speak in real, solid earnest. I don't much mind it now, but if it be always so, what shall I do with the serious part of myself?