Grace Me No Grace, Nor Uncle Me

Women Are Angels, Wooing: Things Won Are Done; Joy's Soul Lies In The Doing: That She Beloved Knows Naught, That Knows Not This-- Men Prize The Thing Ungained More Than It Is.

Now, Neighbor Confines, Purge You Of Your Scum! Have You A Ruffian That Will Swear, Drink, Dance, Revel The Night, Rob, Murder, And Commit The Oldest Sins The Newest Kind Of Ways?

Some Say That Ever 'gainst The Season Comes Wherein Our Saviour's Birth Is Celebrated, The Bird Of Dawning Singeth All Night Long: And Then, They Say, No Spirit Can Walk Abroad; The Nights Are Wholesome; Then No Planets Strike, No Fairy Takes, Nor Wi

A College Of Wit-crackers Cannot Flout Me Out Of My Humor. Dost Thou Think I Care For A Satire Or An Epigram?

But Now I Am Cabined, Cribbed, Confined, Bound In To Saucy Doubts And Fears.