Template:Dkt autumnal humours

Queen: Mark our wither’d arm, boy:
Our alloted time along these salted strands
And beneath the teeming feathered roils
That drench this sad allotment
Tapers down. We are dying, French Guyana, d —

Triago: O, Queen! let not autumnal humours bring thee low!

Queen: The rigid struts of precedent
That fix our covenantry as stars
Pinned to the velvet firmament
Doth dissolve upon intemperate petition.
I am weak.