My Lord, my thanks; but theſe ſcratcht limbs of mine have ſpoke my love and truth unto my friends, more than my tongue ere could: my mind's the ſame it ever was to you; where I find worth, I love the keeper, till he let it go, And then I follow it.
The air around me clouds up with my hurried breathing, mixed in with my dog team. But I'm also panting in relief that our journey's done for the sinik and we've found some refuge for the night.
the princes of the country […]clustering together
molten wax
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