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"I don't know" Said the Irishman" I think I can throw it as far as the next one" Over that same rail engaged at the same pass-time was a young lady, leaning on the arm of her old Dad Between times she repeated" I'me a fathers only daughter, Casting bread upon the water, In a way I hadent oter, I guess yes. Casting it like rain, Into the troubled main, Hoping this sour bread will not return again"
I'me glad of't. Mac. The King, our Master, writes heere, Englishman, He has lost a subiect by you; yet referres Himselfe to us about you. Pike. Mac. Stand up; that mercy which you aske is signd By our most royall master. Pike. My thankes to heaven, him & your Graces. Mac.
Do you remember those old lines: "'A little I'me hurt but not yett slaine, I'le but lye down and bleed awhile, And then I'le rise and fight againe!" "Oh, heaven help me," thought poor Rose, "what can I say now? There is nothing in the world to say."
If you instruct a nearer way, 'tis in Your will to save your eare the trouble of My pleading, Madam, if with one soft breath You say I'me entertain'd; but for one smile That speakes consent you'le make my life your servant. Lady. My husband, Sir Sir Fr. Deserves not such a treasure to himselfe And starve a noble servant. Lady. Sir Fr.
Wilt venter on oanother? Pike. I beseech you To pardon me, and taske me to no more. Alq. All. Prithee, fight with him. Pike. I'me in the Lyon's gripe & to gett from him There's but one way; that's death. Mac. English, What say you? will you fight or no? Pike. Ile fight. All. Give 'em roome! make way there! Pike.
Twould be rare Could you perswade me to't, I can find No such propension in my selfe; beware Least in this wildnes you ingage your heart To one cannot accept it. Thun. Pish! I'me soddaine, lady, In my resolve, but firme as fate. Lady. Surely, You are not well. Thu.
It was pretty well done, but if your friend Mr. Ricker done it, I'me not goen to Insult him soon again by calling him a gentleman." This laconic reference to the matter in a postscript was delicious to Bartley; he seemed to hear Kinney saying the words, and imagined his air of ineffective sarcasm. He carried the letter about with him, and the first time he saw Ricker he showed it to him.
At which sad noise methought I saw thee enter, But, having nere a sword, I counselld thee To strangle him with a Lute string, for which cruelty Of mine, me thought he threw an Arrow at me, Which, if thou hadst not wak'd me as thou didst, Would as I slept with my strong feares ha killd me. Ri. This was the King of Morocco: well, I'me glad I came to take away thy fright. La.
I'me all turnd eares and, Lady, long to heare you, But pressing to you doubt I am too neare you. Then I would speake, but cannot; nought affordes Expression, th'Alphabet's too poore for wordes: He that knowes Love knowes well that every hower Love's glad, Love's sad, Love's sweet Sis. And sometymes sower. Theis wordes would goe well to a tune; pray letts heare you sing.
I eate eringoes and potchd eggs last night. Hen. Goe & call him. Buz. What? Hen. You hound, is he up? Buz. No, he's in Bed, and yet he may be up too; Ile goe see. Hen. Stay, and speake low. How now? Buz. I can speake no lower unlesse I creepe into the Cellar. Hen. I'me glad you are so merry, sir. Buz.
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