Would'ſt thou be window'd in great Rome, and ſee / Thy Maſter thus with pleacht Armes, bending downe / His corrigible necke, his face ſubdu'de / To penetratiue ſhame […]
a hunting-horn, vert, veruled or
Now, I was a black man in the South, and my folks had had “the talk” with me. No, not the one about the birds and bees. This one is about the black man and the police.
I hyred the to fyght agaynste Alexander, and not to crake and prate.
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