O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd! She was a vixen when she went to school; And though she be but little, she is fierce.
Tis safter to be that which we destroy Than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy.
There's villainous news abroad.
I love a ballad in print o' life, for then we are sure they are true.
Every man has business and desire, Such as it is.
Hang there like fruit, my soul, Till the tree die!