Don't Trust The Person Who Has Broken

Good Morrow, Fair Ones; Pray You, If You Know, Where In The Purlieus Of This Forest Stands A Sheep-cote Fenc'd About With Olive Trees?

Mine Eyes Smell Onions: I Shall Weep Anon.

I Had Rather Eleven Died Nobly For Their Country Than One Voluptuously Surfeit Out Of Action.

Nothing Teems But Hateful Docks, Rough Thistles, Kecksies, Burs, Losing Both Beauty And Utility.

So Every Bondman In His Own Hand Bears The Power To Cancel His Captivity.