Renowned Talbot doth expect my ayde, / And I am lowted by a Traitor Villaine, / And cannot helpe the noble Cheualier:[…]

Once the hosts started bickering in the kitchens, the guests began to migrate towards the living room.

With his stick in his hand and his hat of broad brim, / And his comforter red to keep warm his chin, / And his strong knitten gloves and old coat of grey, […]

[…] by the time I was twelve I was my mother’s little helper—the filler of pies, the ladler of jelly, the person to whom Mother snapped, ‘Hurry up, I’ll need to put the tops on those pies.’