Cupid Is A Knavish Lad, Thus To

'sblood, You Starveling, You Elf-skin, You Dried Neat's Tongue, You Bull's Pizzle, You Stock-fish! O For Breath To Utter What Is Like Thee! You Tailor's-yard, You Sheath, You Bowcase; You Vile Standing-tuck!

Happy Are They That Hear Their Detractions, And Can Put Them To Mending.

The Stroke Of Death Is As A Lover's Pinch, Which Hurts And Is Desired.

One Fairer Than My Love? The All-seeing Sun Ne'er Saw Her Match Since First The World Begun.

Would The Cook Were O' My Mind!