The Rose Looks Fair, But Fairer We

How Art Thou Out Of Breath When Thou Hast Breath To Say To Me That Thou Art Out Of Breath?

I Have A Bone To Pick With Fate

An Old Black Ram Is Tupping Your White Ewe

I Had Rather Chop This Hand Off At A Blow, And With The Other Fling It At Thy Face.

An Old Man, Broken With The Storms Of State, Is Come To Lay His Weary Bones Among Ye; Give Him A Little Earth For Charity!