Against Ill Chances Men Are Ever Merry,

O, Let Him Pass. He Hates Him That Would Upon The Rack Of This Tough World Stretch Him Out Longer.

Beggar That I Am, I Am Even Poor In Thanks, But I Thank You; And Sure, Dear Friends, My Thanks Are Too Dear A Halfpenny.

Trip Over Love, You Can Get Up. Fall In Love And You Fall Forever. Anyone Can Catch Your Eye, But It Takes Someone Special To Catch Your Heart. Love Is A Smoke Made With The Fume Of Sighs.

I Would With Such Perfection Govern, Sir, T'excel The Golden Age.

Did He So Often Lodge In Open Field, In Winter's Cold And Summer's Parching Heat, To Conquer France, His True Inheritance?