Zelda was winter's best dame: pale and dark with a shimmer of Christmas in her eye, a flash of New Year's in her laugh.
There is nothin' like a dame.
I've made a wonderful living playing that theatrical character - the professional brassy dame.
Then the Parson might preach, & drink, & sing, And we'd be as happy as birds in the spring; And modest dame Lurch, who is always at Church, Would not have bandy children, nor fasting, nor birch.
O wretched is the dame, to whom the sound, "Your lord will soon return," no phrase brings.
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