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And, had he match'd according to his state, Here on my knee I vow to God above,
He might have kept that glory to this day : I'll never pause again, never stand still,
But, when he took a beggar to his bed,

Till either death hath clos'd these eyes of mine,
And grac'd thy poor sire with his bridal day; Or fortune given me measure of revenge.
Even then that sunshine brew'd a shower for him, Edw. O Warwick, I do bend my knee with thine;
That wash'd his father's fortunes forth of France, And, in this vow, do chain my soul to thine ;
And heap'd sedition on his crown at home. And, ere my knee rise from the earth's cold face,
For what hath broach'd this tumult, but thy pride ? I throw my hands, mine eyes, my heart to thee,
Hadst thou been meek, our litle still had slept ; Thou setter up and plucker down of kings !
And we, in pity of the gentle king,

Beseeching thee, — if with thy will it stands, Had slipp'd our claim until another age.

That to my foes this body must be prey, Geo. But, when we saw our sunshine made thy Yet that thy brazen gates of heaven may ope, spring,

And give sweet passage to my sinful soul !. And that thy summer bred us no increase,

Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, We set the axe to thy usurping root :

Where'er it be, in heaven, or on earth.
And though the edge hath something hit ourselves, Rich. Brother, give me thy hand; — and, gentle
Yet, know thou, since we have begun to strike,

We'll never leave, till we have hewn thee down, Let me embrace thee in my weary arms :-
Or bath'd thy growing with our heated bloods. I, that did never weep, now melt with woe,

Edw. And, in this resolution, I defy thee; That winter should cut off our spring-time so. Not willing any longer conference,

War. Away, away! Once more, sweet lords, fareSince thou deny'st the gentle king to speak.

well. Sound trumpets !- let our bloody colours wave! Geo. Yet let us all together to our troops, And either victory, or else a grave.

And give them leave to Ay that will not stay; Q. Mar. Stay, Edward.

And call them pillars, that will stand to us; Edw. No, wrangling woman; we'll no longer stay; And if we thrive, promise them such rewards These words will cost ten thousand lives to-day. As victors wear at the Olympian games :

(Ereunt. This may plant courage in their quailing breasts;

For yet is hope of life, and victory. SCENE III. – A Field of Battle between Towton Fore-slow 3 no longer, make we hence amain. and Saxton in Yorkshire.

(Erunt. Alarums : Excursions. Enter Warwick. SCENE IV. — The same. Another Part of the War. Forspent with toil, as runners with a race,

Field. I lay me down a little while to breathe :

Excursions. Enter RICHARD and CLIFFORD. For strokes receiv'd, and many blows repaid, Have robb'd my strong-knit sinews of their strength, Rich. Now, Clifford, I have singled thee alone : And, spite of spite, needs must I rest a while. Suppose, this arm is for the duke of York,

And this for Rutland; both bound to revenge, Enter EDWARD, running.

Wert thou environ'd with a brazen wall. Edw. Smile, gentle heaven! or strike, ungentle

Clif. Now, Richard, I am with thee here alone : death :

This is the hand, that stabb'd thy father York ; For this world frowns, and Edward's sun is clouded. And this the hand that slew thy brother Rutland; War. How now, my lord ? what hap? what hope And here's the heart, that triumphs in their death, of good ?

And cheers these hands, that slew thy sire and brother,

To execute the like upon thyself;

And so have at thee.
Geo. Our hap is loss, our hope but sad despair ; [They fight. WARWICK enters; CLIFFORD flies
Our ranks are broke, and ruin follows us :

Rich. Nay, Warwick, single out some other chase; What counsel give you, whither shall we fly? For I myself will hunt this wolf to death. [Exeunt.

Edw. Bootless is flight, they follow us with wings; And weak we are, and cannot shun pursuit.

SCENE V. - Another Part of the Field. Enter RICHARD.

Alarum. Enter King HENRY. Rich. Ah, Warwick, why hast thou withdrawn

K. Hen. This battle fares like to the morning's war, thyself?

When dying clouds contend with growing light; Thy brother's blood the thirsty earth hath drunk, What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Broach'd with the steely point of Clifford's lance :

Can neither call it perfect day, nor night. And in the very pangs of death, he cried,

Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea, Like to a dismal clangor heard from far,

Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind : Warwick, revenge ! brother, revenge my death! Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea So underneath the belly of their steeds,

Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind : That stain'd their fetlocks in his smoking blood, Sometime, the flood prevails; and then, the wind; The noble gentleman gave up the ghost.

Now, one the better; then, another best; War. Then let the earth be drunken with our blood: Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, I'll kill my horse, because I will not fly.

Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered : Why stand we like soft-hearted women here, So is the equal poise of this fell war. Wailing our losses, whiles the foe doth rage ? Here on this molehill will I sit me down. And look upon, as if the tragedy

To whom God will, there be the victory! Were play'd in jest by counterfeiting actors ?

9 Be dilatory,

my heart,

For Margaret, my queen, and Clifford too, For I have bought it with an hundred blows.
Have chid me from the battle ; swearing both, But let me see:- is this our foeman's face?
They prosper best of all when I am thence. Ah, no, no, no, it is mine only son! -
Would I were dead ! if God's good will were so : Ah, boy, if any life be left in thee,
For what is in this world, but grief and woe ? Throw up thine eye; see, see, what showers arise,
Alas! methinks, it were a happy life,

Blown with the windy tempest of
To be no better than a homely swain ;

Upon thy wounds, that kill mine eye and heart ! To sit upon a hill, as I do now,

0, pity, God, this miserable age ! To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, What stratagems“, how fell, how butcherly, Thereby to see the minutes how they run:

Erroneous, mutinous, and unnatural, How many make the hour full complete,

This deadly quarrel daily doth beget! How many hours bring about the day

O boy, thy father gave thee life too soon, How many days will finish up the year,

And hath bereft thee of thy life too late ! How many years a mortal man may live.

K. Hen. Woe above woe! grief more than common When this is known, then to divide the times,

grief! So many hours must I tend my flock;

O, that my death would stay these ruthful deeds! So many hours must I take my rest;

0, pity, pity, gentle heaven, pity! So many hours must I contemplate ;

The red rose and the white are on his face, So many hours must I sport myself ;

The fatal colours of our striving houses : So many days my ewes have been with young; The one, his purple blood right well resembles ; So many weeks ere the poor fools will yean; The other, his pale cheeks, methinks, present : So many years ere I shall shear the fleece :

Wither one rose, and let the other flourish! So minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years, If you contend, a thousand lives must wither. Pass'd over to the end they were created,

Son. How will my mother, for a father's death, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Take on with me, and ne'er be satisfied ? Ah, what a life were this ! how sweet! how lovely! Fath. How will my wife, for slaughter of my son, Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade Shed seas of tears, and ne'er be satisfied ? To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,

K. Hen. How will the country, for these woful Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy

chances, To kings, that fear their subjects' treachery? Misthink the king, and not be satisfied ? O, yes it doth : a thousand fold it doth.

Son. Was ever son, so ru'd a father's death? And to conclude, — the shepherd's homely curds, Fath. Was ever father, so bemoan'd a son ? His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle,

K. Hen. Was ever king, so griev'd for subjects' woe? His wonted sleep under a fresh tree's shade, Much is your sorrow; mine, ten times so much. All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,

Son. I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my Is far beyond a prince's delicates,


[Erit, with the Body. His viands sparkling in a golden cup,

Fath. These arms of mine shall be thy windingHis body couched in a curious bed, When care, mistrust, and treason, wait on him. My heart, sweet boy, shall be thy sepulchre; Alarum. Enter a Son that has killed his Father, For from my heart thine image ne'er shall go. drugging in the dead Body.

My sighing breast shall be thy funeral bell; Son. Ill blows the wind, that profits nobody.

And so obsequious 5 will thy father be,

Sad for the loss of thee, having no more, This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight,

As Priam was for all his valiant sons. May be possessed with some store of crowns :

I'll bear thee hence; and let them fight that will, And I, that haply take them from him now,

For I have murder'd where I should not kill. May yet ere night yield both my life and them

[Erit, with the Body. To some man else, as this dead man doth me. - K. Hen. Sad-hearted men, much overgone with Who's this ? - O Heaven ! it is my father's face,

care, Whom in this conflict I unawares have kill'd.

Here sits a king more woful than you are.
O heavy times, begetting such events !
From London by the king was I press'd forth ; Alarums : Excursions. Enter QUEEN MARGARET,
My father, being the earl of Warwick's man,

Came on the part of York, press'd by his master;
And I, who at his hands receiv'd my life,

Prince. Fly, father, fly! for all your friends are fled, Have by my hands of life bereaved him.

And Warwick rages like a chafed bull : Pardon me, God, I knew not what I did !

Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit. And pardon, father, for I knew not thee !

Q. Mar. Mount you, my lord, towards Berwick My tears shall wipe away these bloody marks ;

post amain : And no more words, till they have flow'd their fill. Edward and Richard, like a brace of greyhounds K. Hen. O piteous spectacle! O bloody times !

Having the fearful flying hare in sight, Whilst lions war, and battle for their dens,

With fiery eyes, sparkling for very wrath, Poor harmless lambs abide their enmity. —

And bloody steel grasp'd in their ireful hands, Weep, wretched man, I'll aid thee tear for tear ;

Are at our backs; and therefore hence amain. And let our hearts and eyes, like civil war,

Exe. Away! for vengeance comes along with them: Be blind with tears, and break o'ercharg’d with grief. Or else come after, I'll away before.

Nay, stay not to expostulate, make speed; Enter a Father, who has killed his Son, with the Body K. Hen. Nay, take me with thee, good sweet in his arms.

Exeter; Fath. Thou that so stoutly hast resisted me,

4 i.e. Dreadful events. Give me thy gold, if thou hast any gold;

Careful of obsequies, or funeral rites.


goes hard,

Not that I fear to stay, but love to go

Your father's head, which Clifford placed there : Whither the queen intends. Forward ; away! Instead whereof, let this supply the room;

(Exeunt. Measure for measure must be answered. SCENE VI. - The same.

Edw. Bring forth that fatal screech-owl to our

house, A loud Alarum. Enter CLIFFORD, wounded. That nothing sung but death to us and ours: Clif. Here burns my candle out, ay, here it dies, Now death shall stop his dismal threatening sound, Which, while it lasted, gave king Henry light.

And his ill-boding tongue no more shall speak. 0, Lancaster! I fear thy overthrow,

[Attendants bring the Body forward. More than my body's parting with my soul.

War. I think his understanding is bereft:My love, and fear, glu'd many friends to thee;

Speak, Clifford, dost thou know who speakstothee?And now I fall, thy tough commixtures melt.

Dark cloudy death o'ershades his beams of life, Impairing Henry, strength’ning mis-proud York,

And he nor sees, nor hears us what we say. The common people swarm like summer flies :

Rich. O, 'would he did! and so, perhaps, he doth; And whither Ay the gnats, but to the sun?

'Tis but his policy to counterfeit, And who shines now but Henry's enemies ?

Because he would avoid such bitter taunts, O Phoebus ! hadst thou never given consent

Which in the time of death he gave our father. That Phaeton should check thy fiery steeds,

Geo. If so thou think'st, vex him with eager Thy burning car never had scorch'd the earth :

words. 6 And, Henry, hadst thou sway'd as kings should do,

Rich. Clifford, ask mercy, and obtain no grace. Or as thy father, and his father did,

Edw. Clifford, repent in bootless penitence. Giving no ground unto the house of York,

War. Clifford, devise excuses for thy faults. They never then had sprung like summer flies;

Geo. While we devise fell tortures for thy faults. I, and ten thousand in this luckless realm,

Rich. Thou didst love York, and I am son to York. Had left no mourning widows for our death,

Edw. Thou pitied'st Rutland, I will pity thee. And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.

Geo. Where's captain Margaret, to fence you now? For what doth cherish weeds but gentle air ?

War. They mock thee, Clifford! swear as thou

wast wont. And what makes robbers bold, but too much lenity ? Bootless are plaints, and cureless are my wounds;

Rich. What, not an oath ? nay then the world No way to fly, nor strength to hold out flight: The foe is merciless, and will not pity ;

When Clifford cannot spare his friends an oath :For, at their hands, I have deserv'd no pity.

I know by that, he's dead; And, by my soul, The air hath got into my deadly wounds,

If this right hand would buy two hours' life, And much effuse of blood doth make me faint:

That I in all despite might rail at him, Come, York, and Richard, Warwick, and the rest; This hand should chop it off; and with the issuing 1 stabb’d your fathers' bosoms, split my breast,

blood [He faints.

Stifle the villain, whose unstaunched thirst

York and young Rutland could not satisfy. Alarum and Retreat. Enter EDWARD, GEORGE,

War. Ay, but he's dead: Off with the traitor's head, RICHARD, MONTAGUE, WARWICK, and Soldiers.

And rear it in the place your father's stands. Edw. Now breathe we, lords; good fortune bids And now to London with triumphant march, us pause,

There to be crowned England's royal king; And smooth the frowns of war with peaceful looks. – From whence shall Warwick cut the sea to France, Some troops pursue the bloody-minded queen ; And ask the lady Bona for thy queen : That led calm Henry, though he were a king, So shalt thou sinew both these lands together ; As doth a sail, fill’d with a fretting gust,

And, having France thy friend, thou shalt not dread Command an argosy to stem the waves.

The scatter'd foe, that hopes to rise again; But think you, lords, that Clifford fled with them? For though they cannot greatly sting to hurt,

War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape: Yet look to have them buz, to offend thine ears. For, though before his face I speak the words, First, will I see the coronation ; Your brother Richard mark'd him for the grave : And then to Britany I'll cross the sea, And, wheresoe'er he is, he's surely dead.

To effect this marriage, so it please my lord. [CLIFFORD groans and dies. Edw. Even as thou wilt, sweet Warwick, let it be: Edw. Whose soul is that which takes her heavy For on thy shoulder do I build my seat; leave?

And never will I undertake the thing, Rich. A deadly groan, like life and death's de- Wherein thy counsel and consent is wanting: parting.

Richard, I will create thee duke of Gloster ;Edw. See who it is: and, now the battle's ended, And George, of Clarence - Warwick, as ourself, If friend, or foe, let him be gently us'd.

Shall do, and undo, as him pleaseth best.
Rich. Revoke that doom of mercy, for 'tis Clifford; Rich. Let me be duke of Clarence; George, or
Who not contented that he lopp'd the branch

In hewing Rutland when his leaves put forth, For Gloster's dukedom is too ominous.
But set his murdering knife unto the root

War. Tut, that's a foolish observation ; From whence that tender spray did sweetly spring, Richard be duke of Gloster : Now to London, * I mean our princely father, duke of York.

To see these honours in possession. War. From off the gates of York fetch down the head,

Sour words: words of asperity.

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SCENE I. A Chase in the North of England. 2 Keep. Say, what art thou, that talk'st of kings

and queens? Enter two Keepers, with Cross-bows in their Hands.

K. Hen. More than I seem, and less than I was 1 Keep. Under this thick-grown brake we'll

born to :
shroud ourselves;

A man at least, for less I should not be ;
For through this laund 7 anon the deer will come; And men may talk of kings, and why not I ?
And in this covert will we make our stand,

2 Keep. Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king. Culling the principal of all the deer.

K. Hen. Why, so I am, in mind; and that's 2 Keep. l'll stay above the hill, so both may shoot.

enough. I keep. That cannot be; the noise of thy cross- 2 Keep. But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown? bow

K. Hen. My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Will scare the herd, and so my shoot is lost. Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones, Here stand we both, and aim we at the best : Nor to be seen : my crown is callid, content : And, for the time shall not seem tedious,

A crown it is, that seldom kings enjoy, I'll tell thee what befell me on a day,

2 Keep. Well, if you be a king crown'd with In this self-place where now we mean to stand.

content, 2 Keep. Here comes a man, let's stay till he be Your crown content, and you, must be contented past.

To go along with us: for, as we think, Enter King Henry, disguised, with a Prayer-book. You are the king, king Edward hath depos'd; K. Hen. From Scotland am I stol'n, even of pure Will apprehend you as his enemy.

And we his subjects, sworn in all allegiance, love, To greet mine own land with my wishful sight.

K. Hen. But did you never swear, and break an

oath? No Harry, Harry, 'tis no land of thine;

2 Keep. No, never such an oath, nor will not now. Thy place is fill'd, thy scepter wrung from thee, Thy balm wash'd off, wherewith thou wast anointed :

K. Hen. Where did you dwell, when I was king No bending knee will call thee Cæsar now,

of England ? No humble suitors press to speak for right,

2 Keep. Here in this country, where we now

remain, No, not a man comes for redress of thee, For how can I help them, and not myself?

K. Hen. I was anointed king at nine months old; 1 Keep. Ay, here's a deer whose skin's a keeper's And you were sworn true subjects unto me:

My father and my grandfather, were kings ; fee : This is the quondam king ; let's seize upon him.

And, tell me then, have you not broke your oaths ? K. Hen. Let me embrace these sour adversities : For we were subjects but while you were king;

1 Keep. No; For wise men say, it is the wisest course. 2 Keep. Why linger we? let us lay hands upon him.

K. Hen. Why, am I dead ? do I not breathe a

man? 1 Keep. Forbear a while: we'll hear a little more. K. Hen. My queen and son, are gone to France Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear. for aid;

Look, as I blow this feather from my face, And, as I hear, the great commanding Warwick

And as the air blows it to me again, Is thither gone, to crave the French king's sister

Obeying with my wind when I do blow, To wife for Edward : If this news be true,

And yielding to another when it blows,

Commanded always by the greater gust;
Poor queen, and son, your labour is but lost ;
For Warwick is a subtle orator,

Such is the lightness of you common men.
And Lewis a prince soon won with moving words. But do not break your oaths; for, of that sin
By this account, then, Margaret may win him ;

My mild entreaty shall not make you guilty. For she's a woman to be pitied much :

Go where you will, the king shall be commanded; Her sighs will make a battery in his breast;

And be you kings; command and I'll obey. Her tears will pierce into a marble heart;

1 Keep. We are true subjects to the king, king The tiger will be mild, while she doth mourn;

Edward. And Nero will be tainted with remorse,

K. Hen. So would you be again to Henry, To hear, and see, her plaints, her brinish tears.

If he were seated as king Edward is. Ay, but she's come to beg; Warwick, to give :

1 Keep. We charge you in God's name, and in She, on his left side, craving aid for Henry;

the king's, He, on his right, asking a wife for Edward.

To go with us unto the officers. She weeps, and says - her Henry is depos’d;

K. Hen. In God's name lead; your king's name He smiles, and says — his Edward is installid;

be obey'd :

And what God will, then let your king perform ; That she, poor wretch, for grief can speak no more: Whiles Warwick tells his titles, smooths the wrong,

And what he will, i humbly yield unto. (Ereunt. Inferreth arguments of mighty strength; And, in conclusion, wins the king from her, SCENE II. - London. A Room in the Palace. With promise of his sister, and what else, To strengthen and support king Edward's place.

Enter King EdwaRD, GLOSTER, CLARENCE, and O Margaret, thus 'twill be ; and thou, poor soul,

Lady Grey. Art then forsaken as thou went'st forlorn.

K. Edw. Brother of Gloster, at Saint Albans' field i A plain extended between woods.

This lady's husband, sir John Grey, was slain,


you did.

tell me.

His lands then seiz'd on by the conqueror :

L. Grey. I take my leave with many thousand Her suit is now, to repossess those lands ;

thanks. Which we in justice cannot well deny,

Glo. The match is made; she seals it with a curt'sy. Because in quarrel of the house of York

X. Edw. But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of love I The worthy gentleman did lose his life.

Glo. Your highness shall do well to grant her suit; L. Grey. The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege. It were dishonour, to deny it her.

K. Edw. Ay, but, I fear me, in another sense. K. Edw. It were no less; but yet I'll make a pause. What love, think'st thou, I sue so much to get ? Glo. Yea! is it so ?

L. Grey. My love till death, my humble thanks I see, the lady hath a thing to grant,

my prayers; Before the king will grant her humble suit. That love, which virtue begs, and virtue grants. Cla. He knows the game; How true he keeps K. Edw. No, by my troth, I did not mean such the wind ?


love. Glo. Silence !

(Aside. L. Grey. Why then you mean not as I thought K. Edw. Widow, we will consider of your suit; And come some other time, to know our mind. X. Edw. But now you partly may perceive my L. Grey. Right gracious lord, I cannot brook

mind. delay :

L. Grey. My mind will never grant what I perceive May it please your highness to resolve me now; Your highness aims at, if I aim aright. And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me.

K. Edw. Why, then thou shalt not have thy Glo. (Aside. ] Ay, widow? then I'll warrant you

husband's lands. all your lands,

L. Grey. Why, then mine honesty shall be my An if what pleases him, shall pleasure you.

dower; K. Edw. How many children hast thou, widow? For by that loss I will not purchase them.

X. Edw. Therein thou wrong'st thy children L. Grey. Three, my most gracious lord.

mightily. K. Edw. 'Twere pity they should lose their father's L. Grey. Herein your highness wrongs both them land.

and me. L. Grey. Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then. But, mighty lord, this merry inclination K. Edw. Lords, give us leave; I'll try this Accords not with the sadness of my suit; widow's wit.

Please you, dismiss me, either with ay, or no. Glo. Ay, good leave have you ; for you will have K. Edw. Ay; if thou wilt say ay, to my request: leave,

No; if thou dost say no, to my demand. Till youth take leave, and leave you to the crutch. L. Grey. Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end.

[GLOSTER and CLARENCE retire to the Glo. The widow likes him not; she knits her other side.


[ Aside. K. Edw. Now tell me, madam, do you love your Clar. He is the bluntest wooer in Christendom. children?

[Aside. L. Grey. Ay, full as dearly as I love myself. K. Edw. (Aside.) Her looks do argue her replete K. Edw. And would you not do much to do them

with modesty ; good ?

Her words do show her wit imcomparable ; L. Grey. To do them good, I would sustain some All her perfections challenge sovereignty: harm.

One way, or other, she is for a king; K. Edw. Then get your husband's lands, to do And she shall be my love, or else iny queen. them good.

Say, that king Edward take thee for his queen ? L. Grey. Therefore I came unto your majesty. L. Grey. 'Tis better said than done, my gracious K. Edw. I'll tell you how these lands are to be got. L. Grey. So shall you bind me to your highness' I am a subject fit to jest withal, service.

But far unfit to be a sovereign. K. Edw. What service wilt thou do me, if I give K. Edw. Sweet widow, by my state I swear to them?

thee, L. Grey. What you com mmand, that rests in me I speak no more than what my soul intends;

And that is to enjoy thee for my love. X. Edw. But you will take exceptions to my boon. L. Grey. And that is more than I will yield unto. L. Grey. No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it. I know, I am too mean to be your queen ; K. Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean And yet too good to be your concubine. to ask.

K. Edw. You cavil, widow; I did mean my queen. L. Grey. Why, then I will do what your grace L. Grey. 'Twill grieve your grace, my sons commands.

should call you — father. Glo. He plies her hard; and much rain wears K. Edw. No more, than when thy daughters call the marble.

[ Aside.

thee mother. Clar. As red as fire ! nay, then her wax must Answer no more, for thou shalt be my queen. melt.

[Aside. Brothers, you muse what chat we two have had. L. Grey. Why stops my lord ? shall I not hear Glo. The widow likes it not, for she looks sad.

K. Edw. You'd think it strange if I should marry K. Edw. An easy task : 'tis but to love a king.

her. L. Grey. That's soon perform'd, because I am a Clar. To whom, my lord ? subject.

K. Edw.

Why, Clarence, to myself. K. Edw. Why then, thy husband's lands I freely Glo. That would be ten days' wonder, at the least. give thce.

Clar. That's a day longer than a wonder lasts.


to do.

my task ?

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