Electric Shakespeare
Confusing, amusing, genius!
What, hast smutch'd thy nose?
They say every why hath a stomach; and such protest of pepper-gingerbread, to velvet-guards and Sunday-citizens. Come, sing. I know not what I shall think of it: it seldom flows; 'tis lack of a dinner, if there be devils, would I were a Roman; no more remembers his mother win the noble man still to return and swear but now was I turn'd into a thousand similes.
They say every why hath a stomach; and such protest of pepper-gingerbread, to velvet-guards and Sunday-citizens. Come, sing. I know not what I shall think of it: it seldom flows; 'tis lack of a dinner, if there be devils, would I were a Roman; no more remembers his mother win the noble man still to return and swear but now was I turn'd into a thousand similes.
created by scott camac martin