Having Nothing, Nothing Can He

Blessings Of Your Heart, You Brew Good Ale.

For I Am Proverbed With A Grandsire Phrase.

Nay, Do Not Think I Flatter. For What Advancement May I Hope From Thee, That No Revenue Hast But Thy Good Spirits To Feed And Clothe Thee? Why Should The Poor Be Flattered?

Lord, Lord, How This World Is Given To Lying!

Oh, She Doth Teach The Torches To Burn Bright!