Be Cheerful; Wipe Thine Eyes: Some Falls

That Man That Hath A Tongue, I Say Is No Man, If With His Tongue He Cannot Win A Woman.

If The Skin Were Parchment And The Blows You Gave Were Ink, Your Own Handwriting Would Tell You What I Think.

Never Anger Made Good Guard For Itself.

She Marking Them Begins A Wailing Note And Sings Extemporally A Woeful Ditty How Love Makes Young Men Thrall And Old Men Dote How Love Is Wise In Folly, Foolish-witty Her Heavy Anthem Still Concludes In Woe, And Still The Choir Of Echoes Answer So.

Who Are The Violets Now That Strew The Lap Of The New-come Spring?