But beef is rare within these oxless isles; Goat's flesh there is, no doubt, and kid, and mutton; And, when a holiday upon them smiles, A joint upon their barbarous spits they put on.
Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels.
Curiosity kills itself; and love is only curiosity, as is proved by its end.
The place is very well and quiet and the children only scream in a low voice.
This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.
I have imbibed such a love for money that I keep some sequins in a drawer to count, and cry over them once a week.