O, How Wretched Is That Poor Man

Remembrance Of Things Past.

Should The Poor Be Flattered? No; Let The Candied Tongue Lick Absurd Pomp, And Crook The Pregnant Hinges Of The Knee Where Thrift May Follow Fawning.

If I Can Catch Him Once Upon The Hip, I Will Feed Fat The Ancient Grudge I Bear Him.

Some Men There Are Love Not A Gaping Pig, Some That Are Mad If They Behold A Cat, And Others When The Bagpipe Sings I The Nose Cannot Contain Their Urine.

She Will Die If You Love Her Not, And She Will Die Ere She Might Make Her Love Known