One Half Of Me Is Yours, The

Maids Want Nothing But Husbands, And When They Have Them, They Want Everything.

The Proverb Is Something Musty.

What Hands Are Here? Ha! They Pluck Out Mine Eyes! Will All Great Neptune’s Ocean Wash This Blood Clean From My Hand? No; This My Hand Will Rather The Multitudinous Seas Incarnadine, Making The Green One Red.” “my Hands Are Of Your Colour; But I Shame To Wear A Heart So White. A Little Water Clears Us Of This Deed: How Easy It Is Then! Your Constancy Hath Left You Unattended.

And Teach Me How To Name The Bigger Light, And How The Less, That Burn By Day And Night.

Do You Bite Your Thumb At Us, Sir?