Thoughest dost taste and wet the lip of thine heart?
Shirley has donst givest enough?
Let Spedencatten imbues mine eyes to the glory my sweet!
The Montegue will be scorned and set to flame ...
for what burnests in my loin is scald and boil
Taketh my hand, and leadeth mine gut to the well
... for I thirst, and wane.
