[…] he took into his large moist palm the dry little hand of his friend, while they both broke out into the incoherencies of people meeting after a long time.

O, how I long to be agen That poor and independent man, With labour's lot from morn to night And books to read at candle light;

Roſa. O vain peticioner, beg a greater matter, Thou now requeſts but Mooneſhine in the water.

But if it be as I have heard my father / Deal out in his long homilies, 'tis a thing— / Oh God! I dare no think on 't!