So long you did not sing or touch your lute, We knew 'twas flesh and blood that there sat mute. But when your playing and your voice came in, 'Twas no more you then, but a cherubin.
Comely acts well; and when he speaks his part, He doth it with the sweetest tones of art: But when he sings a psalm, there's none can be More curs'd for singing out of tune than he.
Since Gander did his pretty youngling wed, Gander, they say, doth each night piss a-bed: What is the cause? Why, Gander will reply, No goose lays good eggs that is trodden dry.
Glasco had none, but now some teeth has got; Which though they fur, will neither ache or rot. Six teeth he has, whereof twice two are known Made of a haft that was a mutton bone....
Glass, out of deep, and out of desp'rate want, Turn'd from a Papist here a Predicant. A vicarage at last Tom Glass got here, Just upon five and thirty pounds a year....
Unto Pastillus rank Gorgonius came To have a tooth twitched out of's native frame; Drawn was his tooth, but stank so, that some say, The barber stopped his nose, and ran away.
When as abroad, to greet the morn, I mark my Graciosa walk, In homage bends the whisp'ring corn, Yet to confess Its awkwardness Must hang its head upon the stalk. ...
An old, old widow Greedy needs would wed, Not for affection to her or her bed; But in regard, 'twas often said, this old Woman would bring him more than could be told....
Groynes, for his fleshly burglary of late, Stood in the holy forum candidate; The word is Roman; but in English known: Penance, and standing so, are both but one.
Grubs loves his wife and children, while that they Can live by love, or else grow fat by play; But when they call or cry on Grubs for meat, Instead of bread Grubs gives them stones to eat....
Gryll eats, but ne'er says grace; to speak the truth, Gryll either keeps his breath to cool his broth, Or else, because Gryll's roast does burn his spit, Gryll will not therefore say a grace for it.
Guess cuts his shoes, and limping, goes about To have men think he's troubled with the gout; But 'tis no gout, believe it, but hard beer, Whose acrimonious humour bites him here.
Fly me not, though I be gray, Lady, this I know you'll say; Better look the roses red, When with white commingled. Black your hairs are; mine are white; This begets the more delight,...
Tell me, what needs those rich deceits, These golden toils, and trammel nets, To take thine hairs when they are known Already tame, and all thine own? 'Tis I am wild, and more than hairs...