Where Shall We Three Meet Again In

For I Am Proverbed With A Grandsire Phrase.

Love, Therefore, And Tongue-tied Simplicity In Least Speak Most, To My Capacity.

'sblood, You Starveling, You Elf-skin, You Dried Neat's Tongue, You Bull's Pizzle, You Stock-fish! O For Breath To Utter What Is Like Thee! You Tailor's-yard, You Sheath, You Bowcase; You Vile Standing-tuck!

Misery Makes Sport To Mock Itself.

I Like This Place And Could Willingly Waste My Time In It.