Thus I have ventur'd to give my Opinion on this Subject againſt the Authority of two great men, but I hope without offence either to their Memories, for I both lov'd them living, and reverence them now they are dead.
They remain oversensitive, continually recoiling from the world, or undersensitive, banging into things, duck-walking through the day as if not entirely aware of their surroundings.
But when the victoreſſe arriued there, / Where late ſhe left the penſife Scudamore, / With her owne truſty Squire, both full of feare, / Neither of them ſhe found where ſhe them lore:[…].
He's dead with a capital D!
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