Nay, I Am The Very Pink Of

Why, Universal Plodding Poisons Up The Nimble Spirits In The Arteries, As Motion And Long-during Action Tires The Sinewy Vigor Of The Traveller.

I Shall Despair. There Is No Creature Loves Me; And If I Die No Soul Will Pity Me: And Wherefore Should They, Since That I Myself Find In Myself No Pity To Myself?

He Doth Nothing But Talk Of His Horses.

Do Not Cast Away An Honest Man For A Villain's Accusation.

A Merry Heart Goes All The Way, - A Sad One Tires Inan Hour.