Doctor. Deaf, Giddy, Helpless, Left Alone. Answer. Except The First, The Fault'S Your Own. Doctor. To All My Friends A Burden Grown. Answer. Because To Few You Will Be Shewn. Give Them Good Wine, And Meat To Stuff, You May Have Company Enough. Doctor. No More I Hear My Church'S Bell, Than If It Rang Out For My Knell. Answer. Then Write And Read, 'Twill Do As Well. Doctor. At Thunder Now No More I Start, Than At The Rumbling Of A Cart. Answer. Think Then Of Thunder When You F - T. Doctor. Nay, What's Incredible, Alack! No More I Hear A Woman'S Clack. Answer. A Woman'S Clack, If I Have Skill, Sounds Somewhat Like A Throwster'S Mill; But Louder Than A Bell, Or Thunder: That Does, I Own, Increase My Wonder.