Alas, poor Beesnake! I knew him, Cueball. A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent wings. He hath flown upon his back a thousand times. And now how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here flapped those wings that I have watch'd I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your filks? your flashes of flight that were wont to set Megan on a climb? Not one now, to mock your own spinning? Quite chap- fall'n? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her climb a cue tall, to this sea she must come. Make her laugh at that.
Posted on 2013-06-17 18:26.