His chinne, a thorny hairy unevennesse, / Doth threaten, and some daily change possesse.

My Lord of Hereford here whom you call King, / Is a foule traitour to proud Herefords King, / And if you crowne him let me propheſie, / The bloud of Engliſh ſhall manure the ground, / And future ages groane for this foule act, …

In fact he was a poor mizrable kritter that a gipsy had pammed off on me by sum of the slickest lyin that was ever dun outside of a court house, and I was ankshus to trade him off for most anything, to save havin to winter him.

Why not learn to build rustic furniture? Why not learn strength training at home? If you're married, why not kick up your sex life a notch?