I Am Not In The Giving Vein

Unless Hours Were Cups Of Sack, And Minutes Capons, And Clocks The Tongues Of Bawds, And Dials The Signs Of Leaping-houses, And The Blessed Sun Himself A Fair Hot Wench In Flame-colored Taffeta, I See No Reason Why Thou Shouldst Be So Superfluous To Demand The Time Of The Day.

Ay, When Fowls Have No Feathers And Fish Have No Fin.

O Horror! Horror! Horror! Tongue Nor Heart Cannot Conceive Nor Name Thee!

Some Rise By Sin, And Some By Virtue Fall.

I Have Full Cause Of Weeping, But This Heart Shall Break Into A Hundred Thousand Flaws Or Ere I'll Weep.