I Do Begin To Have Bloody Thoughts.

If I Were A Woman I Would Kiss As Many Of You As Had Beards That Pleased Me, Complexions That Liked Me And Breaths That I Defied Not

These Flowers Are Like The Pleasures Of The World.

Would The Cook Were O' My Mind!

For I Am Proverbed With A Grandsire Phrase.

Hang There Like Fruit, My Soul, Till The Tree Die!