Theise hayres are oth complexion of the skye, Not like the earthe blacke browne and sullyed.

Smoother your passions, Sir: here comes his sonne A propertie oth court, that least his owne Ill manners should be noted thyeks it fytt In pollycie to scoffe at other mens.

Thank ye friends, And I beseech ye, if you dare but trust me; For if I have kept wilde doggs and beastes for wonder, And made 'em tame too: give into my custody This roaring rascal I shall hamper him, With all his knacks and knaveryes, and I feare me Discover yet a further villany in him; O he smells ranck 'oth rascall.

he looks like a Mapp oth world.