Love Hath Made Thee A Tame Snake

Thou Hast Most Traitorously Corrupted The Youth Of The Realm In Erecting A Grammar School.

Hot Lavender, Mints, Savory, Marjoram; The Marigold, That Goes To Bed Wi' The Sun, And With Him Rise Weeping.

Tis A Happy Thing To Be The Father Unto Many Sons.

The Curse Of Marriage That We Can Call These Delicate Creatures Ours And Not Their Appetites!

No Metal Can--no, Not The Hangman's Axe--bear Half The Keenness Of Thy Sharp Envy.