Tis Ever Common That Men Are Merriest

Grief Fills The Room Up Of My Absent Child, Lies In His Bed, Walks Up And Down With Me, Puts On His Pretty Look, Repeats His Words, Remembers Me Of His Gracious Parts, Stuffs Out His Vacant Garments With His Form

See Where She Comes Apparelled Like The Spring.

You'd Be So Lean, That Blast Of January Would Blow You Through And Through. Now, My Fair'st Friend, I Would I Had Some Flowers O' The Spring That Might Become Your Time Of Day.

To Show Our Simple Skill, That Is The True Beginning Of Our End.

Throw Physic To The Dogs; I'll None Of It.