Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave that, doting on his own obsequious bondage, wears out his time, much like his master's ass, For naught but provender, and when he's old – cashier'd! Whip me such honest knaves.
[…]shortly, it will rend my loins in twain, burst forth, and pull us down, down, down into the deep, dark waters of commitment.
These counterdevelopments challenge earlier expectations about a linear progression of secularism and modernisation.
They [the potatoes] ſtood till October, when they were taken up, and a large pye made of them; which is laying them up in a heap, and covering them with ſtraw and a ſpit of earth.
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