Their Lips Were Four Red Roses On

Let The Sap Of Reason Quench The Fire Of Passion.

A Table Full Of Welcome Makes Scarce One Dainty Dish.

So Many Miseries Have Craz'd My Voice, That My Woe-wearied Tongue Is Still And Mute.

Hang Those That Talk Of Fear.

Wert Thou As Far As That Vast Shore Washed With The Farthest Sea, I Would Adventure For Such Merchandise.