the Apollinarian games

Pleaseth you, pond your suppliant's plaint.

These ripe fruit […] recreate the nostrils with their aromatick scent.

[W]ould it not be an unsufferable crime in a steward, on the strength of the forementioned false imagination, for to lay out great sums of his lord's money on building himself a noble house, and the mean while to let his lord's house lie in a mean, or even ruinous condition?