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?

To eat at another's table is your ambition's height.
[Lat., Bona summa putes, aliena vivere quadra.]

To eat at another's table is your ambition's height.
[Lat., Bona summa putes, aliena vivere quadra.]

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.

He hath a fair sepulchre in the grateful stomach of the judicious
epicure--and for such a tomb might be read more

He hath a fair sepulchre in the grateful stomach of the judicious
epicure--and for such a tomb might be content to die.

Be it not in thy care. Go,
I charge thee, invite them all; let in the tide
read more

Be it not in thy care. Go,
I charge thee, invite them all; let in the tide
Of knaves once more; my cook and I'll provide.

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.

Keep a good table and attend to the ladies.
[Fr., Tenez bonne table et soignez les femmes.]

Keep a good table and attend to the ladies.
[Fr., Tenez bonne table et soignez les femmes.]

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!

'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.