So are those crisped snaky golden locks Which make such wanton gambols with the wind, Upon supposed fairness, often known To be the dowry of a second head, The skull that bred them in the sepulchre.
Those who happen to be deficient in that particular quality come in for no unfrequent reproofs and warnings from their more ‘gaumish’ fellows.
Here, too, the winter festivals are just commencing; and the toy-shops are full of dolls and gew-gaws for the Bifana, who acts here the same comedy for children that Santiclaus does in America.
Let not my lord suppose that they have slain all the young men, the king's sons; for Amnon only is dead.
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