The Expedition Of My Violent Love Outrun

O, What A World Of Vile Ill-favored Faults, Looks Handsome In Three Hundred Pounds A Year!

Good Company, Good Wine, Good Welcome, Can Make Good People.

The Weakest Goes To The Wall.

How Lush And Lusty The Grass Looks! How Green!

A Rarer Spirit Never Did Steer Humanity; But You Gods Will Give Us Some Faults To Make Us Men.