At Dinner My Man Appeares.

'it's This Accursed Science,' I Cried. 'it's The Very Devil. The Mediaeval Priests And Persecutors Were Right, And The Moderns Are All Wrong. You Tamper With It-and It Offers You Gifts. And Directly You Take Them It Knocks You To Pieces In Some Unexpected Way.'

The Chicken Is The Country's, But The City Eats It.

There Are More Physitians In Health Then Drunkards.

The Foole Askes Much, But Hee Is More Foole That Grants It.

Grief Melts Away Like Snow In May, As If There Were No Such Cold Thing.