The Winter’s Tale, [4.4.611-620]. Autolycus. “You might have pinch’d a placket, it was senseless; ’twas nothing geld a codpiece of a purse; I could have fil’d keys off that hung in chains. No hearing, no feeling, but my sir’s song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that in this time of lethargy I pick’d and cut most of their festival pures; and had not the old man come in withh whoo-bub against his daughter and the King’s son and scar’d my choughs from the chaff, I had not lelft a purse alive in the whole army.”


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