Drown Thyself? Drown Cats And

How Poor Are They That Have Have Not Patients.

When Daffodils Begin To Peer, With Heigh! The Doxy, Over The Dale, Why, Then Comes In The Sweet O' The Year; For The Red Blood Reigns In The Winter's Pale. The White Sheet Bleaching On The Hedge, With Heigh! The Sweet Birds, O, How They Sing! Doth Set My Pugging Tooth On Edge; For A Quart Of Ale Is A Dish For A King.

We Must Be Brief When Traitors Brave The Field.

He Was Too Good To Be Where Ill Men Were, And Was The Best Of All Amongst The Rar'st Of Good Ones- Sitting Sadly Hearing Us Praise Our Loves Of Italy For Beauty That Made Barren The Swell'd Boast Of Him That Best Could Speak; For Feature, Laming The Shrine Of Venus Or Straight-pight Minerva, Postures Beyond Brief Nature; For Condition, A Shop Of All The Qualities That Man Loves Woman For; Besides That Hook Of Wiving, Fairness Which Strikes The Eye- Cymbeline.

Stars Hide Your Fires; Let Not Light See My Black And Deep Desires: The Eyes Wink At The Hand; Yet Let That Be Which The Eye Fears, When It Is Done, To See