There's a friendly tie of some sort between music and eating.

If the story-tellers could ha' got decency and good morals from true stories, who'd have troubled to invent parables?

Everybody must be managed. Queens must be managed. Kings must be managed, for men want managing almost as much as women, and that's saying a good deal.

This supreme instance of Troy's goodness fell upon Gabriel's ears like the thirteenth stroke of a crazy clock.

The verse is supposed to get you hard so the chorus can suck you off.

"Good, well-dress'd turtle beats them hollow,-- It almost makes me wish, I vow, To have two stomachs, like a cow!" And lo! as with the cud, an inward thrill Upheaved his waistcoat and disturb'd his frill, His mouth was oozing, and he work'd his jaw-- "I almost that that I could eat one raw."