In fact he was a poor mizrable kritter that a gipsy had pammed off on me by sum of the slickest lyin that was ever dun outside of a court house, and I was ankshus to trade him off for most anything, to save havin to winter him.

His chinne, a thorny hairy unevennesse, / Doth threaten, and some daily change possesse.

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My Lord of Hereford here whom you call King, / Is a foule traitour to proud Herefords King, / And if you crowne him let me propheſie, / The bloud of Engliſh ſhall manure the ground, / And future ages groane for this foule act, …