Fools make feasts, and wise men eat them.

Fools make feasts, and wise men eat them.

But that our feasts
In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digest it with a custom, read more

But that our feasts
In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digest it with a custom, I should blush
To see you so attired, swoon, I think,
To show myself a glass.

First come, first served.

First come, first served.

"An't it please your Honour," quoth the Peasant,
"This same Desset is not so pleasant:
Give me read more

"An't it please your Honour," quoth the Peasant,
"This same Desset is not so pleasant:
Give me again my hollow Tree,
A Crust of Bread, and Liberty."

Man is a carnivorous production,
And must have meals, at least one meal a day;
He cannot read more

Man is a carnivorous production,
And must have meals, at least one meal a day;
He cannot live, like woodcocks, upon suction,
But, like the shark and tiger, must have prey;
Although his anatomical construction
Bears vegetables, in a grumbling way,
Your laboring people think beyond all question,
Beef, veal, and mutton better for digestion.

You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same
abundance as your good fortunes are; and read more

You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same
abundance as your good fortunes are; and yet for aught I see,
they are as sick that surfeit with too much as they that starve
with nothing.

And the barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil
fail, according to the word of read more

And the barrel of meal wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil
fail, according to the word of the Lord, which he spake by
Elijah.

What will not luxury taste? Earth, sea, and air,
Are daily ransack'd for the bill of fare.
read more

What will not luxury taste? Earth, sea, and air,
Are daily ransack'd for the bill of fare.
Blood stuffed in skins is British Christians' food,
And France robs marshes of the croaking brood.

For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings,
Or as read more

For, as a surfeit of the sweetest things
The deepest loathing to the stomach brings,
Or as the heresies that men do leave
Are hated most of those they did deceive,
So thou, my surfeit and my heresy,
Of all be hated, but the most of me!