Some men are born to feast, and not to fight;
Whose sluggish minds, e'en in fair honor's field,
read more

Some men are born to feast, and not to fight;
Whose sluggish minds, e'en in fair honor's field,
Still on their dinner turn--
Let such pot-boiling varlets stay at home,
And wield a flesh-hook rather than a sword.

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.

I will make an end of my dinner--there's pippins and seese to
come.

I will make an end of my dinner--there's pippins and seese to
come.

I want every peasant to have a chicken in his pot on Sundays.
[Fr., Je veux que le dimanche read more

I want every peasant to have a chicken in his pot on Sundays.
[Fr., Je veux que le dimanche chaque paysan ait sa poule au pot.]

What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?

What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?

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

Each man to his stool, with that spur as he would to the lip of
his mistress. Your diet read more

Each man to his stool, with that spur as he would to the lip of
his mistress. Your diet shall be in all places alike; make not a
City feast of it, to let the meat cool ere we can agree upon the
first place; sit, sit. The gods require our thanks.

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.

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.