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And to your more bewitching, see the proud, Plump bed bear up, and swelling like a cloud,...
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What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: The sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.
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Here she lies, a pretty bud, Lately made of flesh and blood:
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Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying.
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And with our broth, and bread, and bits, sir friend, You've fared well : pray make an end ; Two days you've larded here ; a third, ye know, Makes guests and fish smell strong ; pray go
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