Why should Life be a cruel taskmaster, gaunt and grim, priggish and precise, and not the jolly, generous, loose-handed friend who winks at faults, overlooks lapses, and lets things run free in a happy-go-lucky kind of way, the margin not counting?

You laying these ſlight ſallies on my ſonne, / As t'were a thing a little ſoyld with working, […]

I have now put 7 dragons on them, complete with a kajillion tiny scales ... I'm permanently cross-eyed from drawing a kajillion little scales ... and KNOTWORK ... there is a kajillion little lines crossing over and under and over and under . ...

To my mind, the textual arguments in this case are close to equipoise.