Decius. Here lyes the Eaſt: doth not the Day breake heere? … Cin[na]. O pardon, Sir, it doth; and yon grey Lines, / That fret the Clouds, are Meſſengers of Day.
That the more joy we share, the more joy fills us, self-replenishingly, until it boils up ebullient and flows out effortlessly.
The next night the soldiers began teaching the girls to dance... Claude saw that a good deal was going on, and he lectured his men at parade. But he realized that he might as well scold at the sparrows.
Syllabics? Silly bollocks, more like.
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