Good Company, Good Wine, Good Welcome, Can

Tis Not A Year Or Two Shows Us A Man: They Are All But Stomachs, And We All But Food; They Eat Us Hungerly, And When They Are Full They Belch Us.

Striving To Better, Oft We Mar What’s Well.

Thou Art All The Comfort, The Gods Will Diet Me With.

A Great Cause Of The Night Is Lack Of The Sun.

You Are My True And Honourable Wife; As Dear To Me As The Ruddy Drops That Visit My Sad Heart.