Long after lay he musing at her mood, / Much grieu'd to thinke that gentle Dame so light, / For whose defence he was to shed his blood.

I'm sure you believe posting crappy song lyrics to me will endear you to me, but in reality, you're just a daft, frightened, silly little cockfag.

Mrs. Chow down the street, for instance, why did she look so sniffingly upon him when she heard the children, in the harmless uproar of their play, cry him aloud as Daddy?

Silhouettes in the darkness before a rat fuck (combat assault) have a kind of fatalistic presence.