And in that day did the Lord God of hosts call to weeping, and to
mourning, and to baldness, read more

And in that day did the Lord God of hosts call to weeping, and to
mourning, and to baldness, and to girding with sackcloth:
And behold joy and gladness, slaying oxen, and killing sheep,
eating flesh, and drinking wine: let us eat and drink; for to
morrow we shall die.

Though your threshing floor grind a hundred thousand bushels of
corn, not for that reason will your stomach hold read more

Though your threshing floor grind a hundred thousand bushels of
corn, not for that reason will your stomach hold more than mine.
[Lat., Millia frumenti tua triverit area centum.
Non tuus hinc capiet venter plus ac meus.]

All sorrows are good (or are less) with bread.
[Sp., Todos los duelos con pan son buenos (or son read more

All sorrows are good (or are less) with bread.
[Sp., Todos los duelos con pan son buenos (or son menos).]

A cherefull looke makes a dish a feast.
[A cheerful look makes a dish a feast.]

A cherefull looke makes a dish a feast.
[A cheerful look makes a dish a feast.]

He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all of my
substance into that fat read more

He hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put all of my
substance into that fat belly of his.

You praise, in three hundred verses, Sabellus, the baths of
Ponticus, who gives such excellent dinners. You wish to read more

You praise, in three hundred verses, Sabellus, the baths of
Ponticus, who gives such excellent dinners. You wish to dine,
Sabellus, not to bathe.

For a man seldom thinks with more earnestness of anything than he
does of his dinner.

For a man seldom thinks with more earnestness of anything than he
does of his dinner.

'Tis not her coldness, father,
That chills my labouring breast;
It's that confounded cucumber
read more

'Tis not her coldness, father,
That chills my labouring breast;
It's that confounded cucumber
I've ate and can't digest.

Yet shall you have to rectify your palate,
An olive, capers, or some better salad
Ushering the read more

Yet shall you have to rectify your palate,
An olive, capers, or some better salad
Ushering the mutton; with a short-legged hen,
If we can get her, full of eggs, and then,
Limons, and wine for sauce: to these a coney
Is not to be despaired of for our money;
And though fowl now be scarce, yet there are clerks,
The sky not falling, think we may have larks.