Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Every man a critike

O fiendish blaze! O fiendish Kit, guessing my word of passage! But I return, friends, and have dispatched Reynarde to his dens and pubs agayne. Dear groundlyngs, though th' fever o' th' hay has pass'd, I sweltreth under the oppressive heate of Londontown in the summer. What's more, friends, with the raines, I have been assaulted as well by humid vapours and the heat, which agrees not with your Will's pate and browes...or brieches and shoes!

But beyond such, I chanced upon Jack of the hewes again--that urchen who accoasted me last November--who with a new companion had returned. "This's my friend, Timmy," he announced.

Groanyng and sigheing, I nodded. "How fare you both, Jack and Timmy?"

"My ma' says thou couldn't pen thine way out a' a romantic comedy even if Eros hisself tol' thee how," Timmy sais.

O vexatious little men! Why doth every person think they are critikes? I hurried on to the shade by th' river for a spot of dinner and peace.

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