He Was Ever Precise In

Have You Not Love Enough To Bear With Me, When That Rash Humor Which My Mother Gave Me Makes Me Forgetful.

Methinks Sometimes I Have No More Wit Than A Christian Or An Ordinary Man Has; But I Am A Great Eater Of Beef, And I Believe That Does Harm To My Wit.

A Light Heart Lives Long.

Look, The World's Comforter, With Weary Gait, His Day's Hot Task Hath Ended In The West: The Owl, Night's Herald, Shrieks-'tis Very Late; The Sheep Are Gone To Fold, Birds To Their Nest; And Coal-black Clouds, That Shadow Heaven's Light, Do Summon Us To Part, And Bid Good Night.

O, That Our Fathers Would Applause Our Loves, To Seal Our Happiness With Hteir Consents!