Fuss Is The Froth Of Business.

Coquetry Is The Champagne Of Love.

A Name, It Has More Than Nominal Worth, And Belongs To Good Or Bad Luck At Birth

What Joy Have I In June's Return? My Feet Are Parched-my Eyeballs Burn, I Scent No Flowery Gust; But Faint The Flagging Zephyr Springs, With Dry Macadam On Its Wings, And Turns Me 'dust To Dust.'

Ben Battle Was A Soldier Bold, And Used To War's Alarms, But A Cannon-ball Took Off His Legs, So He Laid Down His Arms.

Fuss Is The Froth Of Business.