Thoughts of an Elizabethan Traveller

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Great Winter hath followed this heavy heart

foundeth myself upon a rustic inn

I beseech’d the Sirrah to play their part

pity fell upon mine self and cousin

Pray thou bestow us with hot steamy broth

methinks thy counsel is wiser than some

perchance thy maid could bringeth us some cloth

wherefore I wash in thy room, hither come.

Hark! The Queens gold I have a few pieces

opportune trades beckon from town yonder

pray let me returneth thy good kindness

mine fortune, I giveth thee to plunder.

For thy selfless goodwill thy shalt be repaid

anon, thine soul shalt be measured and weighed.

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