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Section 239
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Foole.
Thou wast a pretty fellow when thou hadst no
need to care for her frowning, now thou art an O
without
a figure, I am better then thou art
now, I am a Foole,
thou art nothing. Yes forsooth I will
hold my tongue, so
your face bids me, though you say
nothing.
Mum, mum, he that keepes nor crust, nor crum,
Weary of all, shall want some. That's a sheal'd
Pescod.