And When A Lady's In The Case,

If The Heart Of A Man Is Depressed With Cares, The Mist Is Dispelled When A Woman Appears.

Fools May Our Scorn, Not Envy, Raise. For Envy Is A Kind Of Praise.

Who Friendship With A Knave Hath Made, Is Judged A Partner In The Trade.

One Common Fate We Both Must Prove; You Die With Envy, I With Love.

My Lodging Is On The Cold Ground, And Hard, Very Hard, Is My Fare, But That Which Grieves Me More Is The Coldness Of My Dear.