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"This is a better text," said the Duke; "and yet it is an old one too three weeks old at least The little Countess with the jealous lord I should not care a farthing for her, save for that same jealous lord Plague on't, and he's gone down to the country this evening in silence and safety written with a quill pulled from the wing of Cupid Your ladyship has left him pen-feathers enough to fly away with better clipped his wings when you had caught him, my lady And so confident of her Buckingham's faith, I hate confidence in a young person.
Then if by the laws of imitation, as explained in Section XII. 3. 3. and XXXIX. 6. the extremities of the nerves of touch in the rete mucosum be induced into similar action, the skin or feathers, or hair, may in like manner so dispose their extreme fibres, as to reflect white; for it is evident, that all these parts were originally obedient to irritative motions during their growth, and probably continue to be so; that those irritative motions are not liable in a healthy state to be succeeded by sensation; which however is no uncommon thing in their diseased state, or in their infant state, as in plica polonica, and in very young pen-feathers, which are still full of blood.
And with such pretty nonsense the two stood together, Dennet in her white cap, short crimson kirtle, little stiff collar, and white bib and apron, holding her bird upside down in one hand, and with the other trying to keep his angry beak from pecking Stephen, who, in his leathern coat and apron, grimed, as well as his crisp black hair, with soot, stood towering above her, stooping to hold out the lustrous wing with one hand while he used his smallest pair of shears with the other to clip the pen-feathers.
It is a fair sight, any creature, be it but a fly, dressing its wings! Dorothy's were feeble, ruffled, their pen-feathers bent and a little crushed; but Juliet's were full of mud, paralyzed with disuse, and grievously singed in the smoldering fire of her secret. A butterfly that has burned its wings is not very unlike a caterpillar again.
And with such pretty nonsense the two stood together, Dennet in her white cap, short crimson kirtle, little stiff collar, and white bib and apron, holding her bird upside down in one hand, and with the other trying to keep his angry beak from pecking Stephen, who, in his leathern coat and apron, grimed, as well as his crisp black hair, with soot, stood towering above her, stooping to hold out the lustrous wing with one hand while he used his smallest pair of shears with the other to clip the pen-feathers.
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