His eye begets occasion for his wit;
For every object that the one doth catch
The other read more

His eye begets occasion for his wit;
For every object that the one doth catch
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest,
Which his fair tongue, conceit's expositor,
Delivers in such apt and gracious words,
That aged ears play truant at his tales,
And younger hearings are quite ravished,
So sweet and voluble is his discourse.

In after-dinner talk,
Across the walnuts and the wine.

In after-dinner talk,
Across the walnuts and the wine.

A story, in which native humour reigns,
Is often useful, always entertains;
A graver fact, enlisted on read more

A story, in which native humour reigns,
Is often useful, always entertains;
A graver fact, enlisted on your side,
May furnish illustration, well applied;
But sedentary weavers of long tales
Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails.

For seldom shall she hear a tale
So said, so tender, yet so true.

For seldom shall she hear a tale
So said, so tender, yet so true.

An' all us other children, when the supper things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an' has read more

An' all us other children, when the supper things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
A-list'nin' to the witch tales 'at Annie tells about
An' the gobble-uns 'at gits you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

I don't ever want anything to come in the way of me truthfully telling a story.rn

I don't ever want anything to come in the way of me truthfully telling a story.rn

When thou dost tell another's jest, therein
Omit the oaths, which true wit cannot need;
Pick out read more

When thou dost tell another's jest, therein
Omit the oaths, which true wit cannot need;
Pick out of tales the mirth, but not the sin.

Soft as some song divine, thy story flows.

Soft as some song divine, thy story flows.

But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison house,
I could a tale read more

But that I am forbid
To tell the secrets of my prison house,
I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres,
Thy knotted and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand on end
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine.