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.

What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?

What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?

And she said, As the Lord thy God liveth, I have not a cake, but
an handful of meal read more

And she said, As the Lord thy God liveth, I have not a cake, but
an handful of meal in a barrel, and a little oil in a cruse:
and, behold, I am gathering two sticks, that I may go in and
dress it for me and my son, that we may eat it, and die.

A very man--not one of nature's clods--
With human failings, whether saint or sinner:
Endowed perhaps with read more

A very man--not one of nature's clods--
With human failings, whether saint or sinner:
Endowed perhaps with genius from the gods
But apt to take his temper from his dinner.

"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."

And the whole congregation of the children of Israel murmured
against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness:
And read more

And the whole congregation of the children of Israel murmured
against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness:
And the children of Israel said unto them, Would to God we had
died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt, when we sat by
the flesh pots, and when we did eat bread to the full; for ye
have brought us forth into this wilderness, to kill this whole
assembly with hunger.

The poor man will praise it so hath he good cause,
That all the year eats neither partridge not read more

The poor man will praise it so hath he good cause,
That all the year eats neither partridge not quail,
But sets up his rest and makes up his feast,
With a crust of brown bread and a pot of good ale.

'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.

See, how the liver is swollen larger than a fat goose! In
amazement you will exclaim: Where could this read more

See, how the liver is swollen larger than a fat goose! In
amazement you will exclaim: Where could this possibly grow?