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Thou of the black and languorous eye, that casteth far and wide Charms, whose sheer witchery compels to passion's utmost height, Whose looks, with Turkish languor fraught, work havoc in the breast, Leaving such wounds as ne'er were made of falchion in the fight, Thou layst on me a heavy load of passion and desire, On me that am too weak to bear a shift upon me dight.
Thou layst upon my back the load of passion and desire, When I for weakness scarce can lift the very gown I wear! That so my soul should waste away, small wonder is to me; But oh! I wonder how my flesh can thine estrangement bear.
"Now, March, sing, 'Thou wert the first, thou aht the layst, an' th'ow yo' whole soul into it like you did last night!" "John," said Champion once, after March had sung this lament, "You're a plumb fraud. If you wa'n't you couldn't sing that thing an' then turn round and sing, 'They laughed, ha-ha! and they quaffed, ha-ha!" "Let's have it!" cried Shotwell.
I sat there till the evening and did not return home till near midnight, when I found my cousin sitting, weeping bitterly and repeating the following verses: Ah me, what ails the censurer, that he at thee should flite? How shall I be consoled for thee, and thou a sapling slight? Thou layst on me a heavy load of passion and desire, On me that am too weak to bear a shift upon me dight.
Richlun tat he shouldt come into teh offuss. He cumps in. 'Mr. Richlun, I sayss, sayss I to him, 'Mr. Richlun, I kot udt!" The baker shook his finger in Dr. Sevier's face. "'I kot udt, udt layst, Mr. Richlun! I yoost het a suspish'n sindts teh first tay fot I employedt you, ovver now I know I kot udt! Vell, sir, he yoost turnun so rate ass a flennen shirt! 'Mr.
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