Th'

And well beſeemes all knights of noble name, / That couett in th’immortall booke of fame / To be eternized, […]

Maſt. Good: Speake to th’Mariners: fall too’t, yarely, or we run our ſelues a ground, beſtirre, beſtirre.

Then marke th’inducement. Thus it came; giue heede too’t:

New life and joy th’ expanding floweret feels: / His pitying Mistress mourns, and mourning heals!

HOW OLD’S TH’ BOY?

1. Th’art kinde.

She crossed her hand an’ turned her face up like a bird does, only th’ ain’t no birds what can sing like she did; seemed like she was n’t a‐doin’ of it at all,—voice came out of itself, like ’s if ’t was just a waitin’ for a change to git out.