Rich people haue the world at will, / Trades fade, but Lawiers flourish still, / Iacke would be married unto Gyll; / but care will kill a Cat. / Are you there, Sirrah, with your beares? / A Barbers shop with the nittie haires, / Doll, Phillis hath lost both her eares / for coozning.

Speaking of which— Fionn starts foostering in the pocket of his manky old jacket—I've probably got something for you.

The rubber band stretched almost to the breaking point.

So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers,