They want their money without reference to the hows and wherefores.
Hey, diddle, diddle, we're all in a twiddle, Although we're cuffed and we're cuffed, To be quite exact we cannot act, For, you see, we are all of us stuffed.
My Lord of Hereford here whom you call King, / Is a foule traitour to proud Herefords King, / And if you crowne him let me propheſie, / The bloud of Engliſh ſhall manure the ground, / And future ages groane for this foule act, …
The questions have become: / 1. Anybody ever heard of a batch of plastic dashboard Jesuses (Jesi?) that melted down in the sun to become plastic Hoteis (or something like that)?
