[H]aue you not a moiſt eie, a dry hand, a yelow cheeke, a white beard, a decreaſing leg, an increaſing belly? […] and will you yet call your ſelfe yong? fie, fie, fie, ſir Iohn.
Potterdom, stfdom
The word, Tu mihi criminis author (alluding to his Princes commaund) thou art the occasion of my imputed cowardise.
[…] fathers and sons agaze at each other’s haggardness, like groups from a hundred Hunger-towers turned out beneath the mid-day sun.
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