you corss the tees. Wherefore watch ye well! For, while I betreu him not once well he be betray himself. Can’t you read by dazzling ones through me true? Bite my laughters, drink my tears. Pore into me, volumes, spell me stark and spill me swooning. I just don’t care this fig for contempt of courting. That I chid you, sweet sir? You know I’m tender by my tide impracing, as Beacher seath, and all the Sundays about it to you. Saying whiches, see his bow and wheer’s his leaker and heer lays his bequiet hearse, deep; Swed Albiony, likeliest villain of the