Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
O canst thou not remember the days of long ago, when my now despised beauty was a joy to thee, and my hair a very net to snare thy willing soul, and my eyes were more to thee than any diamonds, and these two arms were thy prison and thy chain, and this agitated bosom was thy pillow on which I lulled thee to slumber with the music of this very voice.
this grave charm- Whose eye beck'd forth my wars and call'd them home, Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end- Like a right gypsy hath at fast and loose Beguil'd me to the very heart of loss.
There is a spell upon her now--a halo of joy; and she only knows that a strong arm is around her, and a voice is in her ear, whispering that the bosom on which her weary head is pillowed shall be her resting place forever.
this bosom's still thy home, And all thy failings I'll repay with love.
--Her once calm and peaceful Bosom was now all Hurry and Confusion:-- The Esteem which she had been long labouring to feel for the Chevalier, was now turn'd to Aversion and Disdain; and the Indifference she had for all Mankind, now converted into the most violent Passion for one ...she thought she could be contended to live a single Life, and knew so little of the encroaching Nature of the Passion she had entertained, that she believed she should never languish for any greater Joy, than that she might, without a Crime, indulge Contemplation with the Idea of his Perfections; and to destroy that pleasing Theory by marrying with another ...was more terrible to her than the worst of Deaths.--Confounded what to do, or rather wild that there was nothing she could do that might be of Service to her in an Exigence like this, her Mind grew all a Chaos, and the unintermitting Inquietudes of her Soul not permitting any Repose, she ...had a very good Pretence to keep her Chamber, and receive no Visits."
Her bosom is the prettiest in Florence; the lining of her robe over her right arm has such green and blue and gold as never were seen elsewhere; her golden sandals are delicate as gossamer.
His bosom is his friend's closet, where he may safely lay up his complaints, his doubts, his cares; and look how he leaves, so he finds them; save for some addition of seasonable counsel for redress.