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).]

As long as I have fat turtle-doves, a fig of your lettuce, my
friend, and you may keep your read more

As long as I have fat turtle-doves, a fig of your lettuce, my
friend, and you may keep your shell-fish to yourself. I have no
wish to waste my appetite.

Though we eat little flesh and drink no wine,
Yet let's be merry; we'll have tea and toast;
read more

Though we eat little flesh and drink no wine,
Yet let's be merry; we'll have tea and toast;
Custards for supper, and an endless host
Of syllabubs and jellies and mince-pies,
And other such ladylike luxuries.

When the Sultan Shah-Zaman
Goes to the city Ispahan,
Even before he gets so far
read more

When the Sultan Shah-Zaman
Goes to the city Ispahan,
Even before he gets so far
As the place where the clustered palm-trees are,
At the last of the thirty palace-gates
The pet of the harem, Rose-in-Bloom,
Orders a feast in his favorite room--
Glittering square of colored ice,
Sweetened with syrup, tinctured with spice,
Creams, and cordials, and sugared dates,
Syrian apples, Othmanee quinces,
Limes and citrons and apricots,
And wines that are known to Eastern princes.

(For many walk, of whom I have told you often, and now tell you
even weeping, that they are read more

(For many walk, of whom I have told you often, and now tell you
even weeping, that they are the enemies of the cross of Christ:
Whose end is destruction, whose God is their belly, and whose
glory is in their shame, who mind earthly things.)

'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.

O hour, of all hours, the most blesse'd upon earth,
The bless'd hour of our dinners!

O hour, of all hours, the most blesse'd upon earth,
The bless'd hour of our dinners!

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.]

The stomach carries the heart, and not the heart the stomach.
[Sp., Tripas llevan corazon, que no corazon tripas.]

The stomach carries the heart, and not the heart the stomach.
[Sp., Tripas llevan corazon, que no corazon tripas.]