A certain portion of the human race has certainly a taste for being diddled.
Apothegms form a short cut to much knowledge.
When Eve upon the first of Men The apple press'd with specious cant, Oh! what a thousand pities then That Adam was not Adamant!
For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying.
Oh would I were dead now, Or up in my bed now, To cover my head now, And have a good cry!
No sun, no moon, no morn, no noon, No dawn, no dusk, no proper time of day, . . . . . . No road, no street, no t' other side the way, . . . . . . No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no buds.