I Wish My Horse Had The Speed

I Am Such A Tender Ass, If My Hair Do But Tickle Me, I Must Scratch.

Let Me Be Boiled To Death With Melancholy.

Fair Ladies, Masked, Are Roses In Their Bud; Dismasked, The Damask Sweet Commixture Shown, Are Angels Vailing Clouds, Or Roses Blown.

But Kate, Dost Thou Understand Thus Much English? Canst Thou Love Me?" Catherine: "i Cannot Tell." Henry: "can Any Of Your Neighbours Tell, Kate? I'll Ask Them.

When Once Our Grace We Have Forgot, Nothing Goes Right.