This all his care, this all his whole indevour, To this his minde and senses he doth bend, How he may flow in quiets matchles treasour, Content with any food that God doth send; 140 And how his limbs, resolv'd through idle leisour, Unto sweete sleepe he may securely lend, In some coole shadow from the scorching heat, The whiles his flock their chawed cuds do eate.

Will just won’t accept that Lauren fancies Simon, and hangs around cringily in the background – even when she invites Simon to join her for their free time and they share a goodbye nuzzle.

Sketchers lookin' like Balenciaga / Thrift clothes lookin' like the Prada / Whole fit lit, it cost me nada

And, if it happen as I did forecaſt, / The dainteſt diſhes ſhall be ſerv'd up laſt.