Cal. Ha’ſt thou not dropt from heauen ? Ste. Out o’th Moone I doe aſſure thee. I was the Man ith’ Moone when time was. Cal. I haue ſeene thee in her : and I doe adore thee : My Miſtris ſhew’d me thee, and thy Dog, and thy Buſh.
Folk said he fair was a nickum, that loon, young Ewan Tavendale that came form the Manse […]
Crouch low thy neck to eleemosynary gifts.
Put the berries into a cheesecloth and wring the juice into a bowl.
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