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Updated: May 21, 2025
'What was't ye seed; was't a snaïke? she inquired loudly, at the same time moving her skirts to look for that dangerous reptile. 'No, he shouted, putting his whole energy into the word. 'What was't ye seed, cutting them capers as if ye was shot, an' saying o' words neyther fit fur heaven above nor earth beneath?
There was a mystery, a weirdness about the figure, about that hungry gaze, which tormented him. His temptation returned upon him irresistibly. 'Lias, he said, bending forward, his dark cheek flushing with excitement, 'Louie and I went up, Easter Eve, to t' Pool, but we went to sleep an saw nowt. What was't yo saw, 'Lias? Did yo see her for sure?
"So this is the end," he repeated. "You had better go below and ask your steward to give you some more butter." He laughed bitterly. "Well, I might have expected it, I might have known what would happen! Eustace warned me. Eustace was right. He knows women as I do now. Women! What mighty ills have not been done by women? Who was't betrayed the what's-its-name? A woman!
They shouted thrice. What was the last cry for? Casca. Why for that too. Brutus. Was the crown offered him thrice? Casca. Ay marry was't. And he put it by thrice, every time gentler than the other; and at every putting by, mine honest neighbours shouted. Cassius. Who offered him the crown? Casca. Why, Antony. Brutus. Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca. Casca.
Now, being old, I see, with a thankful heart, how many verra fine people inhabit here. 'Tis a rale bonny world. And, lookin' back, I see too often where I have made harsh judgings of my fellows. There are more excuses for ill-doings to my old eyes. Was't so with you?" "Yes," said Pete. "We're not such a poor lot after all not when we stop to think or when we're forced to see.
Where hast thou sent the king? Gloster. To Dover. Regan. Wherefore To Dover, was't thou not charged at peril? Cornwall. Wherefore to Dover? Let him first answer that. Regan. Wherefore to Dover? Gloster. Because I would not see thy cruel nails Pluck out his poor old eyes, nor thy fierce sister In his anointed flesh stick boarish fangs. Regan. One side will mock another; the other too. Cornwall.
And he, foaming and grinding his breath, 'Thou woman of wiles! thou serpent! but I'll be gone from here. So she faltered in sweetness, knowing him doomed, and loving to dally with him in her wickedness, 'Indeed if thou cam'st not for my kiss Then said the Vizier, 'Yet a further guile! Was't not an outrage to bring me here?
"Never mind, Mother Drum," quoth one; "she was a pig-woman once in Bartlemy Fair, and lost her temper through the heat of a coal-fire roasting porkers. Was't not hot, Mother Drum? was not Tophet a kind of cool cellar to it?" It was Surly who spoke, and Mother Drum turns on him in a rage.
Who, reared in Catherine's luxurious court, Enjoyed the fulness of each earthly pleasure? Was't not enough to rob her of her power, Must ye then envy her its paltry tinsel? A noble heart in time resigns itself To great calamities with fortitude; But yet it cuts one to the soul to part At once with all life's little outward trappings!
An' what for didna Maister Welsh or you write to say ye war comin'? An' whaur's a' the buiks an' the gear?" continued John Bairdieson. "I have walked all the way, John," said Ralph. "I quarrelled with the minister, and he turned me to the door." "Dear sirce!" said John anxiously, "was't ill-doing or unsound doctrine?" "Mr. Welsh said that he could not company with unbelievers."
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