Monologue
O! ye porous, pallor’d soul!
’Tis thee to whom I do wail
In grief, an’ thither hath I
Sent anon such myriad of words.
I beeth ‘bout night stricken
As I hath first attested
Ye to be with mine prime verb.
I prithee, bright maiden, to read onward;
A vote of most courteous
Confidence and compassion,
Shown outside…