But the false Fox most kindly played his part, For whatsoever mother-wit or art Could work he put in proof. No practice sly, No counterpoint of cunning policy, No reach, no breach, that might him profit bring. But he the same did to his purpose wring.

[…] since my Hairdresser can no longer claim that she was not aware of the Date for our Regularly Skeduled Appointments.

Oh, there was no warmth in the sunlight, and the sky was a drabby gray, and he was filled with bitterness unutterable. "

We hold their homes!—no bugle blows A weedman's homely deeds! He made a garden—sowed a seed— But we have plucked the flowers!