The Tempest, [4.1.134-138].Iris. “You sunburnt sicklemen, of August weary,/ Come hither from the furrow and be merry./ Make holiday; your rye-straw hats put on/ And these fresh nymphs encounter every one/ in country footing.”
The Tempest, [4.1.134-138].Iris. “You sunburnt sicklemen, of August weary,/ Come hither from the furrow and be merry./ Make holiday; your rye-straw hats put on/ And these fresh nymphs encounter every one/ in country footing.”
May 1, 2009 at 6:49 pm
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