Eating

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.

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.

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.

Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits
Make rich the ribs, but backrout quite the wits.

Fat paunches have lean pates, and dainty bits
Make rich the ribs, but backrout quite the wits.

You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same
abundance as your good fortunes are; and read more

You would be, sweet madam, if your miseries were in the same
abundance as your good fortunes are; and yet for aught I see,
they are as sick that surfeit with too much as they that starve
with nothing.

Come, we have a hot venison pasty to dinner.

Come, we have a hot venison pasty to dinner.

I wished your venison better--it was ill killed.

I wished your venison better--it was ill killed.

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.

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!

I fear it is too choleric a meat.
How say you to a fat tripe finely broiled?

I fear it is too choleric a meat.
How say you to a fat tripe finely broiled?