Prepare For Mirth, For Mirth Becomes A

Send Danger From The East Unto The West, So Honor Cross It From The North To South.

A Goodly Portly Man, I' Faith, And A Corpulent; Of A Cheerful Look, A Pleasing Eye, And A Most Noble Carriage; And, As I Think, His Age Some Fifty, Or, By'r Lady, Inclining To Threescore; And Now I Remember Me, His Name Is Falstaff.

Anger's My Meat. I Sup Upon Myself, And So Shall Starve With Feeding.

Ay, But Hearken, Sir; Though The Chameleon Love Can Feed On The Air, I Am One That Am Nourished By My Victuals, And Would Fain Have Meat.

Hope Is A Lover's Staff; Walk Hence With That And Manage It Against Despairing Thoughts.