Tell Me, O Muse, Of That Ingenious

Never To Be Cast Away Are The Gifts Of The Gods, Magnificent, Which They Give Of Their Own Will, No Man Could Have Them For Wanting Them.

Long Exercised In Woes.

Bursts As A Wave That From The Clouds Impends, And Swell'd With Tempests On The Ship Descends; White Are The Decks With Foam; The Winds Aloud Howl O'er The Masts, And Sing Through Every Shroud: Pale, Trembling, Tir'd, The Sailors Freeze With Fears; And Instant Death On Every Wave Appears.

You Can't Go Wrong With Cocktail Weenies. They Look As Good As They Taste. And They Come In This Delicious Red Sauce. It Looks Like Ketchup, It Tastes Like Ketchup, But Brother, It Ain't Ketchup!

The Best Things Beyond Their Measure Cloy.