There Is Not One Wise Man In

France Is A Dog-hole, And It No More Merits The Tread Of A Man's Foot.

Thou Ever Young, Fresh, Lov'd, And Delicate Wooer, Whose Blush Doth Thaw The Consecrated Snow

Hell Is Empty And All The Devils Are Here.

Appetite, A Universal Wolf.

He's All My Exercise, My Mirth, My Matter.