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Tall tales, whiskey and blood doth Mazy’s spray! When clear’d espy those drinking at third place; home to Robert Footswift, Bob’s own table. ‘Twixt tankards do spread crimes and plans most foul; those caught bragging catch the cutpurse’s pick. Worse Bob himself may flay standing liars and cheats caught dressing the table in brass; dress your tales plain ‘fore jousting this drake sooth.

Hear now then news from your bards faithful tongue!  Feign, hold.  Pick not!  Hold hid thy shivvies now!  recent notes herald from ole guard Maxwick; warden to the ‘Bonc’s south gate.  Hold you I said!  Pertains here this yellow letter to Hommlet, the brawling maids flown past a fourth night gone; hints, hints mind you of traffic there most foul.  And tho’ quiv’ring in fact and flush in fancy, note doth allude to longer shadows known!  Hold the knife say I!  Finish me at curtains.

Know I, ask you, of maids most recent past?
Grim were they and tall flush by on steeds proud
and though armored past south gate flew they fast
towards Hommlet way. Well! Past Porter’s shroud
came this morn same troop, form’d in strangest train!
Bridle? Down! Lances, leaning! Smiles, yet.. armored
they still ‘gainst mischief. Asketh I what mortmain
lumber in yon virgin truck? Prey, killed
by this company, and boiled in haunches
to sink the table whole! Toasted we the grizzled
vets of Hommlet ‘fore nuts and sheaf arras
on Porter’s Day, and to the ‘Bonc returned.
‘Tis all? I ask’d, poking yon cover’d bed.
A smile, two rubies and from the gate they fled.

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