Misery Makes Sport To Mock Itself.

I Can See His Pride Peep Through Each Part Of Him.

Nice Customs Curtsy To Great Kings.

A Very Ancient And Fish-like Smell.

Under The Greenwood Tree, Who Loves To Lie With Me And Tune His Merry Note, Unto The Sweet Bird's Throat; Come Hither, Come Hither, Come Hither. Here Shall He See No Enemy But Winter And Rough Weather.

When A Gentlemen Is Disposed To Swear, It Is Not For Any Standers-by To Curtail His Oaths.