Oh God! That One Might Read The

Come Give Us A Taste Of Your Quality.

Smooth Runs The Water Where The Brook Is Deep.

If Reasons Were As Plentiful As Blackberries, I Would Give No Man A Reason Upon Compulsion.

When Daisies Pied And Violets Blue And Lady-smocks All Silver-white And Cuckoo-buds Of Yellow Hue Do Paint The Meadows With Delight, The Cuckoo Then, On Every Tree, Mocks Married Men; For Thus Sings He, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, Cuckoo; O, Word Of Fear, Unpleasing To A Married Ear.

Nothing Comes Amiss, So Money Comes Withal.