Sure The Shovel And Tongs To Each

Sure My Love Is All Crostlike A Bud In The Frostand There's No Use At All In My Going To Bed,for 't Is Dhrames And Not Slape That Comes Into My Head!

When Once The Itch Of Literature Comes Over A Man, Nothing Can Cure It But The Scratching Of A Pen. But If You Have Not A Pen, I Suppose You Must Scratch Any Way You Can.

A Baby Was Sleeping, Its Mother Was Weeping.

For Dhrames Always Go By Conthraries, My Dear.

Better To Be Safe Than Sorry.