Tis not her coldness, father, That chills my labouring breast; It's that confounded cucumber I've ate and can't digest. — Richard Harris Barham Copy Share Image
The Jackdaw sat in the Cardinal's chair! Bishop and Abbot and Prior were there, Many a monk and many a friar, Many a knight… — Richard Harris Barham Copy Share Image
Tis not her coldness, father, That chills my labouring breast; It's that confounded cucumber I've ate and can't digest. — Richard Harris Barham Copy Share Image
Thrice happy's the wooing that's not long adoing. So much time is saved in the billing and cooing. — Richard Harris Barham Copy Share Image
His eyes so dim, so wasted each limb, that, heedless of grammar, they all cried, that's him! — Richard Harris Barham Copy Share Image
I was between A man and a boy, A hobble-de-hoy, A fat, little, punchy concern of sixteen. — Richard Harris Barham Copy Share Image
