Immortal God, that savedest Susanne / From false blame; and thou merciful maid, / Mary I mean, the daughter to Saint Anne, /Before whose child the angels sing Osanne,

A narrow flooring, guttered, walled, and tiled.

Farre off a hill and mountaine high they ſpide, / VVhoſe top the cloudes enuiron, cloath and hide; […]

That point was where I started feeling like a “bad gay,” like I was too weird, too queer, too open about being a pervert, and celebrating being a leatherperson as part of my identity.