To England Will I Steal, And There

Give Every Man Thy Ear, But Few Thy Voice.

In Delay There Lies No Plenty.

Cursed Be He That Moves My Bones.

Twas A Clever Quibble. Here, A Garment For It.

I Must To The Barber's, Monsieur, For Methinks I Am Marvellous Hairy About The Face.