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 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: