O Come Ye In Peace Here, Or

Revenge, The Sweetest Morsel To The Mouth That Ever Was Cooked In Hell.

Commend Me To Sterling Honesty Though Clad In Rags.

There Is A Southern Proverb - Fine Words Butter No Parsnips.

The Summer Dawn's Reflected Hue To Purple Changed Lock Katrine Blue, Mildly And Soft The Western Breeze Just Kiss'd The Lake, Just Stirr'd The Trees, And The Pleased Lake, Like Maiden Coy, Trembled But Dimpled Not For Joy.

Meat Eaten Without Either Mirth Or Music Is Ill Of Digestion.