Tears Are The Noble Language Of The

Happy Is The Bride That The Sun Shines On.

Fain Would I Kiss My Julia's Dainty Leg, Which Is As White And Hairless As An Egg.

I Dare Not Ask A Kiss; I Dare Not Beg A Smile; Lest Having That Or This, I Might Grow Proud The While. No, No, The Utmost Share Of My Desire Shall Be Only To Kiss That Air, That Lately Kissed Thee.

Cherry-ripe, Ripe, Ripe, I Cry, Full And Fair Ones; Come And Buy. If So Be You Ask Me Where They Do Grow, I Answer: There, Where My Julia's Lips Do Smile; There's The Land, Or Cherry-isle, Whose Plantations Fully Show All The Year Where Cherries Grow.

Tis Not The Food, But The Content, That Makes The Table's Merriment.