Truth will come to sight; murder cannot be hid long.

Thou hast the most unsavoury similes.

Tired with all these for restful death I cry, As to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn.

If you would persuade, you must appeal to interest rather than intellect. We are advertis'd by our loving friends.

'Twas merry when You wagered on your angling, when your diver Did hang a salt fish on his hook, which he With fervency drew up.

All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

Out, you tallow-face! You baggage!