You might want to read this over a couple of times. I did and thought, whoa, Shakespeare is as good as they say. Thanks for stopping by. Stay tuned...
I cannot choose: sometime he angers me With telling me of the mouldwarp and the ant, Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies, And of a dragon and a finless fish, A clip-wing'd griffin and a moulten raven, A couching lion and a ramping cat, And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff As puts me from my faith. I tell you what; He held me last night at least nine hours In reckoning up the several devils' names That were his lackeys: I cried 'hum,' and 'well, go to,' But mark'd him not a word. O, he is as tedious As a tired horse, a railing wife; Worse than a smoky house: I had rather live With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far, Than feed on cates and have him talk to me In any summer-house in Christendom. |