Scratching could not make it worse, an't were such a face as yours were.

His jest will savour but of shallow wit, When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.

Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache; but a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would change places with his officer; for look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go.

For such things as you, I can scarce think there's any, ye're so slight.

Good friend for Jesus sake forbeare, To digg the dust encloased heare! Blest be the man that spares thes stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.

All is well ended, if the suit be won.

They have been at a great feast of languages, and stolen the scraps.