She Shall Scant Show Well That Now

The Pleasant'st Angling Is To See The Fish Cut With Her Golden Oars The Silver Stream And Greedily Devour The Treacherous Bait.

If After Every Tempest Come Such Calms, May The Winds Blow Till They Have Waken'd Death!

There's Not A Shirt And A Half In All My Company, And The Half Shirt Is Two Napkins Tacked Together And Thrown Over The Shoulders Like A Herald's Coat Without Sleeves.

Let The Sap Of Reason Quench The Fire Of Passion.

Thou Art The Best O' The Cut-throats