Chapter 75 of 247 · 58 words · ~1 min read

CL.

[From W. Wager's play, called 'The longer thou livest, the more foole thou art,' 4to, Lond.]

The white dove sat on the castle wall, I bend my bow and shoot her I shall; I put her in my glove both feathers and all; I laid my bridle upon the shelf, If you will any more, sing it yourself.