“Alas, poor Linda! I knew her, Mustafa: a woman
of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: She hath
borne me on her back a thousand times; and now, how
abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rims at
it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know
not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your
gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment,
that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one
now, to mock your own grinning? quite chapette - fallen?”....And so it goes.
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@paladin5150 Now get you to my lady’s chamber and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favor she must come. Make her laugh at that.
It's so cold out that the lake freezes in seconds but they have their coats open and no need of hats or gloves...
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@vbprog It's not real.
