Death Hath So Many Doors To Let

Wine Works The Heart Up, Wakes The Wit; There Is No Cure 'gainst Age But It. And 'tis Late And Cold, Stir Up The Fire; Sit Close And Draw The Table Nigher; Be Merry And Drink Wine That Is Old, A Hearty Medicine 'gainst The Cold.

It's Impossible To Ravish Me, I'm So Willing.

Drink Today, And Drown All Sorrow; You Shall Perhaps Not Do Tomorrow.

I Find The Medicine Worse Than The Malady.

O Woman, Perfect Woman! What Distraction Was Meant To Mankind When Thou Wast Made A Devil!