Clearly, the bottle-arms of this Angel represent, at one and the same time, the mother's breasts and the father's penis — though we should not forget the between-step of the concept of the mother's penis, …
Angel
If a man sells you anything as good as what you ask for, but yet entirely different, are you cheated? […] [A] man may say his butterine is as pure and wholesome as genuine butter, and therefore why not sell it as butter?
This show hasn't dated well.
One, my lord, that doth so palpably, so apparently make her adulteries a trophy, whiles the poting-stick to her unsatiate goatish abomination jeers at, and flouts your sleepish, and more than sleepish, security.
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