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Rh For gathering winter-faggots?’

‘He likes art, Buys books and pictures. . of a certain kind; Neglects no patient duty; a good son’. ..

‘To a most obedient mother. Born to wear His father’s shoes, he wears her husband’s too: Indeed, I’ve heard its touching. Dear Lord Howe, You shall not praise me so against your heart, When I’m at worst for praise and faggots.’ ‘Be Less bitter with me, for. . in short,’ he said, ‘I have a letter, which he urged me so To bring you. . I could scarcely choose but yield Insisting that a new love passing through The hand of an old friendship, caught from it Some reconciling perfume.’ ‘Love, you say? My lord, I cannot love. I only find The rhymes for love,—and that’s not love, my lord. Take back your letter.’ ‘Pause: you’ll read it first?’

‘I will not read it: it is stereotyped; The same he wrote to,—anybody’s name,— Anne Blythe, the actress, when she had died so true, A duchess fainted in an open box: Pauline, the dancer, after the great pas, In which her little feet winked overhead Like other fire-flies, and amazed the pit: