Every thing possible to be believ'd is an image of truth.
But if at church they would give some ale. And a pleasant fire our souls to regale. We'd sing and we'd pray all the live long day, Nor ever once from the church to stray.
The moon, like a flower in heaven's high bower, with silent delight sits and smiles on the night.
The hours of folly are measured by the clock; but of wisdom, no clock can measure.
The weak in courage is strong in cunning.
Listen to the fool's reproach! It is a kingly title!