They are happie men, whose natures sort with their vocations, otherwise they may say Multum incola fuit anima mea; when they converse in those things they doe not affect.
I shall have a bottle of the old Burgundy, and tell Chloe he must exert himself to send me up some slight chef-d'œuvre for supper: I am sure that one needs something, after so much annoyance!
Pigboy was watching and asked. He who was that? Holy shit, she was hot and the size of her yabos!
He who was that? Holy shit, she was hot and the size of her yabos!
The Harpe. […] A harper with his wreſt maye tune the harpe wrong Mys tunying of an Inſtrument ſhal hurt a true ſonge
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