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"Now I lay me and byelow in the trib," answered Tilly, stretching herself over his arm with a great yawn. Warwick kissed the rosy half-open mouth and seemed loth to part with the pious baby, for he took the shawl Sylvia brought and did up the drowsy bundle himself. While so busied she stole a furtive glance at him, having looked without seeing before.
And to satisfie my self, that this Degeneration of Colour did not proceed from the Paper, I drop'd some of the deep Red or Crimson Juice upon a White glaz'd Tile, and suffering it to dry on there, I found that ev'n in that Body, on which it could not Soak, and by which it could not be Wrought, it nevertheless lost its Colour. Parkinson, Thea. Bot. Trib. 4 cap. 12.
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