For A Quart Of Ale Is A

Twere To Consider Too Curiously, To Consider So.

My Long Sickness Of Health And Living Now Begins To Mend, And Nothing Brings Me All Things.

Well-apparel'd April On The Heel Of Limping Winter Treads.

Fie, Thou Dishonest Satan! I Call Thee By The Most Modest Terms; For I Am One Of Those Gentle Ones That Will Use The Devil Himself With Courtesy: Sayest Thou That House Is Dark?

If You Be King, Why Should Not I Succeed?