Poor Tom, that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the todpole, the
wall-newt and the water; that in the read more

Poor Tom, that eats the swimming frog, the toad, the todpole, the
wall-newt and the water; that in the fury of his heart, when the
foul fiend rages, eats cow-dung for sallets, swallows the old rat
and the ditch-dog, drinks the green mantle of the standing pool;
who is whipped from tithing to tithing, and stock-punished and
imprisoned; who hath had three suits to his back, six shirts to
his body,
Horse to ride, and weapon to wear,
But mice and rats, and such small deer,
Have been Tom's food for seven long year.

He that keeps not crust nor crum
Weary of all, shall want some.

He that keeps not crust nor crum
Weary of all, shall want some.

Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table.

'Tis not the food, but the content,
That makes the table's merriment.

'Tis not the food, but the content,
That makes the table's merriment.

The genuine Amphitryon is the Amphitryon with whom we dine.
[Fr., Le veritable Amphitryon
Est l'Amphitryon ou read more

The genuine Amphitryon is the Amphitryon with whom we dine.
[Fr., Le veritable Amphitryon
Est l'Amphitryon ou l'on dine.]

Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye
shall eat, or what ye shall read more

Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye
shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye
shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body more
than raiment?

Philo swears that he has never dined at home, and it is so; he
does not dine at all, read more

Philo swears that he has never dined at home, and it is so; he
does not dine at all, except when invited out.

My cake is dough, but I'll in among the rest,
Out of hope of all but my share of read more

My cake is dough, but I'll in among the rest,
Out of hope of all but my share of the feast.

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.