Why, There's A Wench! Come On, And

Ay, But To Die, And Go We Know Not Where.

For 'tis The Sport To Have The Engineer Hoist With His Own Petar; And't Shall Go Hard But I Will Delve One Yard Below Their Mines And Blow Them At The Moon.

Britain Is A World By Itself, And We Will Nothing Pay For Wearing Our Own Noses.

It Is Lost At Dice, What Ancient Honor Won.

Enjoy The Honey-heavy Dew Of Slumber.