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.

The master of art or giver of wit,
Their belly.

The master of art or giver of wit,
Their belly.

Mithriades, by frequently drinking poison, rendered it impossible
for any poison to hurt him. You, Cinna, by always dining read more

Mithriades, by frequently drinking poison, rendered it impossible
for any poison to hurt him. You, Cinna, by always dining on next
to nothing, have taken due precaution against ever perishing from
hunger.

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.

A fisherman's walk: three steps and overboard.

A fisherman's walk: three steps and overboard.

For when for the time ye ought to be teachers, ye have need that
one teach you again which read more

For when for the time ye ought to be teachers, ye have need that
one teach you again which be the first principles of the oracles
of God: and are become such as have need of milk, and not of
strong meat.
For every one that useth milk is unskilful in the word of
righteousness: for he is a babe.
But strong meat belongeth to them that are of full age, even
those who by reason of use have their senses exercised to discern
both good and evil.

What baron or squire
Or knight of the shire
Lives half so well as a holy friar.

What baron or squire
Or knight of the shire
Lives half so well as a holy friar.

"Live like yourself," was soon my lady's word,
And lo! two puddings smok'd upon the board.

"Live like yourself," was soon my lady's word,
And lo! two puddings smok'd upon the board.

Oh, herbaceous treat!
'Twould tempt the dying anchorite to eat;
Back to the world he'd turn his read more

Oh, herbaceous treat!
'Twould tempt the dying anchorite to eat;
Back to the world he'd turn his fleeting soul,
And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl;
Serenely full the epicure would say,
"Fate cannot harm me,--I have dined to-day."