O, I Have Suffered With Those That

All The Perfumes Of Arabia Will Not Sweeten This Little Hand! Oh, Oh, Oh!

Keep Up Your Bright Swords, For The Dew Will Rust Them.

I Do Oppose My Patience To His Fury, And Am Arm'd To Suffer, With A Quietness Of Spirit, The Very Tyranny And Rage Of His.

The Apparel Oft Proclaims The Man.

Speak, What Trade Art Thou? Why, Sir, A Carpenter. Where Is Thy Leather Apron And Thy Rule? What Does Thou With Thy Best Apparel On?