'tis Better To Bear The

Winding Up Days With Toil And Nights With Sleep.

Some Rise By Sin, And Some By Virtue Fall.

They Say Miracles Are Past.

The Tartness Of His Face Sours Ripe Grapes.

I Will Be Master Of What Is Mine Own: She Is My Goods, My Chattels; She Is My House, My Household Stuff, My Field, My Barn, My Horse, My Ox, My Ass, My Any Thing.