[…] now, while I stick to my good friends here, I am very contented; but when I ever so little run after sights and fine things, I begin to hate my work, I grow sad, and have no heart to mend shoes any longer.

A soft “Queek, queek!” made her look up and listen.

Making supplication[…]unto the gods by the meanes of certaine depulsorie sacrifices.

But a hare that is hoar / Is too much for a score / When it hoars ere it be spent.