For my part, getting up seems not so easy By half as lying.
When was ever honey made with one bee in a hive?
Oh would I were dead now, Or up in my bed now, To cover my head now, And have a good cry!
How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
The biggest bore of all is he who is overflowing with congratulations
Gold! gold! gold! gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold!