I was a coward on instinct.
Thou hast the most unsavoury similes.
My friends were poor, but honest, so's my love.
All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand! Oh, oh, oh!
A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent--sweet, not lasting; The perfume and suppliance of a minute; No more.
Oh, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!