Template:Dkt autumnal humours

Queen: (Wildly waving a sheaf) Black news! Black news!
Brave Annunzio by means most fell
Mark our wither’d arm, boy:
Lest our alloted time
Along these salted strands
Beneath the teeming feathered roils
That drench this sad allotment
Taper down.
We are dying, French Guyana, d —

Triago: O, Queen! Let not this dread encroach
Wherein autumnal humours bring thee low!

{dia|Nuncle|’Tis not the season, Trig Quite so much as the harvest

Queen: Must the rigid struts of precedent
That fix our covenantry as stars
Pinned to the velvet firmament
So dissolve upon this intemperate petition?
This meaty claim, short days ago as firm
And explicable to those who tabulate
our fore and aft exposures as iron
Melts in the rain

Nuncle: If melting claims were the only problem.

Queen: What mean you, fool?

Nuncle: thy claims may melt into pennies upon the pound
Thy correspondent liabilities keep their craggy
constellational shape

Doth one not cancel out the other by the golden
sorcery of offset?
The happy magic is stayed by
Th’administrstor’s deeper conjury.

am weak.}}

Queen: