Oh, Flatter Me; For Love Delights In

Alas, Our Frailty Is The Cause , Not We! For, Such As We Are Made Of, Such We Be.

There Is Little Choice In A Barrel Of Rotten Apples.

Thrift, Thrift, Horatio! The Funeral Bak'd Meats Did Coldly Furnish Forth The Marriage Tables.

He Is Not Worthy Of The Honey-comb, That Shuns The Hives Because The Bees Have Stings.

Highly Fed And Lowly Taught.