#mens snood

[thestuffedalligator]

The duchy was founded - unofficially - when some enterprising little thief had read through the royal lawbooks, looking for loopholes like a worm trying to wriggle its way through a brick, and had discovered that while the king's men could follow a man across mountains, forests, and plains, they were not granted the same jurisdiction over bodies of water.

This had started the popular idea amongst the kingdom's criminal underbelly that if a thief took a boat and paddled out into the middle of a pond, the king's men technically couldn't do anything about it.

Of course, the realist interjected, it'd never work; if you tried it, then you'd be one thief in the middle of a pond, with all those guards waiting on the shore for you to either wash up with the flotsam or die of starvation.

Still, the idea was alluring. It hung around the popular consciousness as a thought, an untested hypothesis, an interesting fact.

It would've remained so if it wasn't for Edmund Snood, an enterprising young thief who hadn't quite enterprised an escape plan, and with the guard closing behind him had grabbed a rowboat and cast himself out into the largest of the kingdom's lakes so fast that he had skipped like a thrown stone.

And as Edmund fended off the banks and the horrible, grinning, patient faces of the guards waiting for him there, word had spread across the kingdom. Soon enough, thieves and thugs were all paddling up to the little rowboat with a sandwich and a few words of encouragement, attaboy, Eddie, show them who's boss, eh? We're all rooting for you back home!

And after four days, the duchy was founded - unofficially - when Jack "Jackal" Jaseroque had lashed his rowboat to Edmund's and took over the duty of paddling while Edmund took the first sleep he had in half a week.

After that, another boat lashed together with the two. Then another. Then four more. A lean-to shelter was built, torn down, and rebuilt bigger. Walkways were tied together. And then in a wave of tidal force, the thieves and thugs, bandits and brigands, vandals and vagabonds of the kingdom all sailed out to the little assemblage. Leather bladders were inflated to help with bouyancy. Ramshackle halls were raised. A strict rotation of paddling duty was arranged to fend off the banks.

And the tune of the realist had changed - they can't be watching all the shores, right? So if we just spend a couple days here, keep an eye out, and head out again once we've spotted a gap, then who cares about a little bit of paddling in the meantime, right?

The duchy was founded - officially - when Edmund Snood took on the role of dukedom to universal acclaim. This was also when the name of the little commune had been agreed on, as the makeshift structure bobbed gently on the water's surface.

It was called the Robber Duchy.

[15-lizards]

an anything hightower & oldtown post please 🥺 (if you have the time)

Ofc I have the time!! 💚 (also sorry for using so many pics from the Borgias again the costumes are just too good)

Oldtown vs Highgarden? The girls are having an opulence-off. They definitely have the near exact same fashions bc they’re so close, but there might be some foreign inspos in Oldtown bc they’re a port city. Also since they’re the richest city they’re quality of fabric is very high and the ornamentation/accessories are very skillfully done and detailed

However I think not everyone is doing the exposed neck and pushed up bosom thing, bc Oldtown is the center of the faith and modesty and all that. So while there’s women who prefer risqué fashions, there’s also influential women who are pushing for modesty and wear more coverage (while still dressing richly, don’t get it twisted)

There’s probably an age divide, but the older women aren’t dowdy they’re just slightly more conservative in fashion. Cause the Hightower women are the richest in the country they are gonna have those looks on lock!Like this pic is young Alerie Hightower and her mother to me

My Hightower girls love their pearls and ribbons and snoods. Matriarchs and modest women will wear their hair up and younger unmarried ones will wear it down but no rich woman in the wealthiest city in Westeros is going around looking like a pleb so ofc they spend too much time and money on braiding and shaping and fixing their hair so they can go be the hottest bitch in the sept

Kings Landing men what is stopping you from serving cunt like this…like these bitches are dripped out in more gold than Tywin has in his mines. Passing by all the citadel students and septons in training like I know they mad asf!! Anyways yeah I know all the lords and rich traders strut around like peacocks bc if you can wear pearls from the summer sea and lace from Myr then why tf not

[balbigalum]

how I think fashion looks in every region of westeros (a very long post that shouldn’t be seen by anybody who studies actual fashion)

the north

what we know of the north is that it is a very big region with not that much of a population which means it is very isolated, both from each other and for the rest of the realm. their fashion appears to be more traditional in comparison to the rest of westeros, they value tradition, the blood of first men, and weirdwood trees, so often their fashion reflects that rather than whatever they’re wearing in the crownlands. i think they have loose shapes and traditional patterns on them, and probably keep the bright colors for the younger girls. clothing in the north has to be more functional than fashionable

the riverlands

i wish i knew how these type of dresses are called, but to me the riverlands look what we generally imagine the medieval era to look like, riverrun looks like a fairytale castle, so kinda like old-school princes, probably wearing hairnets and snoods too

the vale

this is another region that it’s kinda isolated from the rest of westeros so i think new fabrics and fashion come in slowly, meaning they develop a more specific style to the region, i think a lot of light colors and big flowy sleeves, probably shorter dresses and not overly complicated silhouettes since the weather and the activities of the vale are harsher, ladies of the vale often partake in activities like riding, hunting and archery, so they need to be more comfortable, they also probably wear their hair up and in braids rather than letting it loose

the iron islands:

fashion is an afterthought here and with their weather and way of living delicate fabrics don’t work for long, i think they wear a lot of dark colors and houses like Greyjoy embroider their coat of arms in gold to show who they are, they are closer to pirates than to members of the court and their clothes reflect that

casterly rock

they have wealth and a port, i thin their fashion is influenced by the reach a lot so there are some similarities but they still find a way to make their clothes their own, a lot of embroidery and velvet, expensive heavy fabrics, also i think the last picture is something Joanna Lannister would wear (the fact that all of theses dresses are red is just a coincidence lol i know other people besides the lannisters live there)

the reach

beauty and opulence is what defines the reach and so does their fashion, the more the better, their dresses are extremely complex and very well decorated, hairnets and pearls and overly complicated hairstyles too

the stormlands

i think they pick up influences from here and there due to their proximity to the crownlands, their port and also the reach, they keep dark colors and heavy fabrics around, the constant rain, mud and lack of sunshine probably makes it harder to keep colorful fabrics bright

king’s landing

this place is the most inspired by the medieval times in my opinion (the paintings) so i think the ladies of the court wear things similar to these ones, again the fabric are expensive and you can tell they’re highborns but there is some sense of not over-dressing, probably to not outshine the actual royals

dorne

now dorne works in a spectrum, if you stand in sunspear fashion is closer to their rhoynar origins, picking up influences from the free cities of the south, this region is the most unique of all of westeros. the closer you get to the reach fashion starts to look more similar, for example in Starfall people dress closer to the rest of westeros than in sunspear, the first picture would be starfall and the last would be sunspear

the targaryens

finally the targaryens, the royal family is originally from old valyria and they are known for being culturally different than any other family of the crownlands, i think their fashion is somewhere between the current king’s landing fashion and their own fashion they have developed throughout the years based on what they keep from valyria. they also flaunt their royal status through embroidery and other details on their clothes, their fashion is more fantasy inspired rather than real world inspired

[fruity-forest-dweller]

Someone needs to stop these white men fr. I mean, come on, how can you look at the love corner in Wednesday and tell me either one of them was a good match for her.

You have contestant number one: Tyler who Wednesday had showed literally ZERO interest in and only interacted with in order to get what she wanted. She basically treated him like an uber with the one nice thing she did before being confronted about her "feelings" being fixing the coffee maker just so she could get her coffee. Tyler insisted that Wednesday was giving him signals and that something was going on between them and the only time this girl ever gave him the time of day was when some outside source pushed her towards acting on romantic feelings that truly weren't even there. And sure, Wednesday kissed Tyler but aside from that very moment, she had never even shown an inkling of ever actually liking this man in any capasity.

Then we have contestant number two: Xavier who Wednesday had saved once before when they were young and then was saved by early on in the season. As soon as things started going awry Wednesday immediately suspected him of being the culprit and more often than not Wednesday seemed offended at his very existence. He also seemed to think Wednesday had a thing for him and seemed like she'd rather be buried alive than ask this man on a date even if it was to save her own ass.

Now ENID on the other hand, contestant number three: both of them were basically willing to go to the ends of the earth for each other. Although Wednesday hated her at the start, she quickly warmed up to Enid and what started out as a connection that would get Wednesday what she wanted became one of her deepest relationships (romantic or otherwise). She threatened to fuck up Ajax if he ever hurt Enid, she was willing to wear the snood Enid got her and made up with Thing for the other girl's sake, and Wednesday showed very clear signs of being upset when her and enid fought with the only other time Wednesday was upset being when Thing nearly died. On top of that, she also allowed enid to hug her and even hugged Enid back, something wednesday doesn't even do with her own family

[twola]

Devil's Backbone : Limpany III

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC/Reader POV Tags: Longfic, Slow Burn, Smut (18+), Violence, Canon-Typical Injuries

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Limpany III: Cleanse the Shallow Root

“You best know better than to quarrel with Leviticus Cornwall.”

CW:  racism, violence, injuries, death. you know, the normal RDR stuff.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

“If that horse snaps at me one more time , it’s off to the glue factory with it. You hear me, Mister Shaw?”

Amos stands outside the enclosure with his hands on his hips, a scowl on his face. His hat, covered in mud, lies within the fence, perilously close to a set of hooves that move with a sense of irritation.

“Amos, he’s not an ass to anyone not deservin’. Maybe you should be nicer to him and he won’t bite at you.” Frederick rolled his eyes, leaning on the fence next to the older man. 

The ranch hand huffs. “Now that’s a lie if there ever was one. That horse is a nasty ol’ bastard even to your wife, and she ain’t got a mean bone in her body.” The horse in question plods closer to the two men; a tall, sooty Warmblood. Its dark tail swooshes at the flies around the paddock. 

Frederick grins, raising his hand toward the horse, who edges closer to him. “C’mere,  Aethon. You’re not that bad.”  The horse sidles up to Frederick, allowing him to pat down his nose. Frederick looks over to Amos with a boyish grin as he runs his other hand through the horse’s dark mane, to prove a point, flaunt manhood, or maybe both.

“Namin’ that horse after a god sure as hell gave it a complex.” Amos waves his hand in dismissal, heaving himself over the fence and grabbing his hat while Aethon was distracted. He hurries and climbs over the fence again, wary of the large workhorse. The older man slaps his hat against his thigh a few times to loosen the dirt from it.

“Amos, you aren’t heading out anytime soon, are you?”

“Nah, I figure we’re good on supplies, there’s plenty of work to do around here.”

Frederick nods. “Good. I… I think it’ll be good for Ruth. For people to be here in town for a minute.”

Amos doesn’t meet the younger man’s gaze. He grunts in agreement, staring down at the ground. Frederick pats the horse’s head one last time before sighing and stepping away from the paddock. The ranch hand places his hat back on his head and his hands rest on his belt. “ ‘M sorry, bout what happened, Mister Shaw.”

Frederick grimaces, looking at the ground as well. He kicks at a stone beneath his boot. He reaches toward a brown leather Stetson hat slung over a fencepost. Between his fingers, the worn leather cracks and bends slightly before he places it on his head. 

An awkward silence falls upon the two of them, punctuated by the sound of the Warmblood’s hooves scraping the ground, its heavy breathing through flared nostrils.

“Y’all look like you’re hardly working out here. Running out of things to do?”

The men both look up to find you standing at the back door, hands crossed over your chest. You’re clad in a brown velvet vest over a cream-colored blouse, belted over a mauve skirt. Your blonde hair is gathered at the nape of your neck in a black threaded snood, pinned behind your ears. Quirking an eyebrow, you tap your foot in mock frustration. “I know that horse is difficult, but it doesn’t take an hour to feed him. You two are just gossiping out here.”

“Missus Shaw, by the angels! Did you see the sign? I got it put up out by the road.”

You roll your eyes, strolling over to the fence where the two men were loitering.  “C’mon, the both of you. One of the gents who just stopped in the saloon said he passed a wagon train with several workers heading this way. They may be here by supper. We’re gonna need everyone in the saloon.”

Amos tips his hat, “Yes ma’am,” he looks at Frederick, “You, uh, heard the boss, sir.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jacket. Fumbling with it, he strides off, around the paddock toward the front of the cabin toward the street.

“I meant you too, Mister Shaw.” 

A smirk crosses his features. He didn’t shave this morning, a slight shadow of stubble adorns his jaw. You can’t help but smile back, this husband of yours still makes your heart flip flop in your chest like the day you first saw him, years ago.

“On my way, Missus Shaw.”

He shuffles by you, grabbing your waist and pulling you to him with a laugh. He slots his lips against yours in a searing kiss before pulling back, squeezing your hip as he goes to follow Amos.  For a few moments, you watch him, before shaking your head slightly and smoothing your skirts down. You pull at your brown velvet vest, smoothing a crease that appeared over the flare of your waist. 

The horse in the paddock notices you, moving slowly toward your side of the enclosure.

“Today the day you’re gonna be nice to me, Aethon?” You ask, nervously raising your hand to Aethon’s head to pat it. The huge horse must notice your nervousness and agitation, because he quickly draws his head back, flaring his nostrils before nipping at your hand with his teeth. You gasp and pull your hand back just in time to avoid getting bitten.

“Nope, not today, you damned horse.” You retort at the huge beast, cradling your hand that very closely escaped a grizzly fate. A fading pink scar in the webbing of your hand was a permanent reminder of Aethon’s temper and how hard he could bite.

A shout pierces the air of the late afternoon, and you glance over toward the saloon across the way. More travelers seem to be stopping in Limpany daily, which leaves the saloon and store busier than ever. Soon enough, you’ll be able to hire more than just Ulysses and Amos to help. Hire them some help.

Frederick’s inheritance covered most of the costs of building the saloon and store, and the few small cabins dotting the hillside. Somehow, Stockdale was able to convince the state of New Hanover to fund the building of a Sheriff’s Office and the stone jail built into the sloping cliff.  Having seen how he operates, you're sure that Hilliard Stockdale knows the right people to ask favors of or whose pockets to grease with future investments.

You lean against the fencepost, watching Aethon pace around the enclosure, uninterested in you. Certainly, if someone had told you a year and a half ago you were building a town in the farthest reaches of New Hanover, you would have laughed.  

Sighing, you gather your skirts and walk across the muddy path around your cabin, heading to the lane that divides Limpany, and to the saloon where a couple of travelers have ridden up to. Glancing toward the river, you pause, before moving quickly toward the entrance to the little hamlet, toward the well-worn road on the banks of the Dakota. The afternoon sun glinted on the river’s waters, gently flowing down toward Flat Iron Lake. Covering your eyes from the light, your peer southward, where the black steel of Bard’s Crossing lies in the distance, connecting New Hanover to West Elizabeth.

Turning northward again, you stride through the grass, under the large oak tree. You move around two stakes in the ground, supporting a wooden panel at shoulder height. You can’t help the quirked smile that graces your face, as you take in the view. 

WELCOME TO LIMPANY

Hands on your hips, you breathe in deeply through your nose, sighing contentedly. Behind the sign you painted lies your life, the settlement that you now call home. After several years of roaming, across deserts and mountains and prairies, you finally settled here, at the bend of the Dakota, building a town from the ground up, building the dreams Frederick had breathed life into those years ago.

—

The crash of glass breaking on the wooden floor was really nothing new, not in a saloon, not where ranch hands and oil riggers; cattlemen, and travelers gather. Not where men live rough lives on the unforgiving land. Not here, not in Limpany.

This, however, was a bit much, even for Ulysses. And that was coming from years working in bars and saloons, from Saint Denis to Blackwater.

“Alright, that’s enough. You two best leave. You’re done here.” He angrily glares at the two cattlemen who had taken to laying themselves across the bar, knocking over their heavily used glasses, and smashing them to pieces on the floor. One of them sits up, swaying unsteadily. “Y- y’ don’t tell me how to l-live, ya…”

He falls off the stool to the ground, limbs splaying every which way while his partner howls in laughter from the bar. Ulysses groans, rolling up his sleeves, brushing his hands off on his apron before rounding the bar. He grabs the man from the floor, dragging him by the collar. “Out, now, ya drunk.”

The man pushes away from him, stumbling several steps into a table. He grunts in a drunken huff, turning back to Ulysses. “Get off, don’t touch me, you dirty negro!”

Ulysses scowls, his hands coming to the drunken man’s collar again, pulling him from his reclined position on the table, “I told you twice, get the hell out of here. Don’t make me drag you out to the shit-covered field you came from.”

The compatriot of the man Ulysses was currently dragging off the table stood from his stool, knocking it over while bellowing at the scene drunkenly. He stumbles toward the two, grabbing Ulysses’ shoulder and trying to pull him off of the other man. Ulysses swings back against the second drunk, pushing the first man to the ground. “God damnit, you sons of bitches!” 

“Now that’s enough!” A voice bellows from the doorway, where Sheriff Stockdale strides in, drawn by the commotion and breaking glass that could be heard from outside.  The portly lawman rushes forward, grabbing the man struggling with the barkeep by the collar and yanking him to the floor. Ulysses grunts in appreciation, turning back to the first ranch hand, who was crawling along the floor trying not to be seen. He was doing a poor job of it.

“Ulysses,” Stockdale shouts over his shoulder, “these men are disturbin’ the peace. I’m placin’ them under arrest, will ya help me escort them over to the holdin’ cells?”

The barkeep smirks as he leans over the man on the floor, yanking him up by the collar and pulling him toward the door of the saloon. “Sure, sir, let’s take a walk.”

Stockdale grunts, heaving the drunk to the right out the swinging door, and the man yelps and rolls into the street, groaning in the mud as the sheriff stalks out of the saloon and down the two stairs leading to the lane. Ulysses follows, dragging the second man out with his hands under his shoulders, finally, the man had stopped struggling.

This is the scene you come across as you pace the lane from your cabin toward the front door of McCluskey’s Saloon, “Sheriff?”

Stockdale looks up from the man suspended underneath his boot.  “Missus Shaw, mind you these gentlemen who are gonna spend the night sleepin’ off their rudeness.”

You roll your eyes, giving Stockdale and Ulysses a wide berth as they gathered the two men as best they could to drag them toward the small jail built into the hill. “You boys need help?”

Ulysses grins, looking up from the ground where one of the men lies. “No ma’am, but we just shoulda had you handle them in the first place, they’d run toward the hills before dealin’ with you.”

He stoops down on one knee, grabbing the drunk by the waist and heaving him over his shoulder. The inebriated ranch hand glances up at you, barely making eye contact before laughing, suspended in midair.

“Oh, s-this the town whore? H-How much to warm my bedroll tonight?”

The sheriff backhands the man across the face, knocking him silent. “Ain’t no one talk about Missus Shaw like that, you damned louse,” Stockdale shunts the second man onto his shoulder, and grasps the clinking skeleton keys on his belt, “C’mon, Ulysses, no more disturbin’ the peace from these sorry sons-of-bitches.” He tips his hat to you, “Ma’am,” and manhandles the other drunk behind Ulysses, dragging him in the mud toward the small stone jail at the edge of the hill.

“Startin’ early, I see.” 

You place your hands on your hips, turning your head back toward the saloon. Amos stands at the door, a lit cigarette between his lips. You shake your head, “Let’s hope that wagon train they told us about is a bit less rowdy.”

Amos grunts in agreement, dropping the cigarette to the floor and crunching it under his boot. 

—

“Christ, did’ya buy enough potatoes?” 

Ulysses wipes his hand down his face in exasperation, “That’s the last time you let Amos go on a supply run by hisself, Mister Shaw. The fool don’t know anything bout meal that don’t come out of a can!”

A giggle escapes before you can slap a hand over your mouth. Ulysses and Frederick, on either side of the large table in the back room of the saloon turn to you.

Your husband glares, “I don’t know why you’re laughing, dear, you’re the one who's gonna have to peel all these up.”

“Well then, I best be gettin’ to work, and hope that this wagon train is hungry.” You reply cheekily, reaching for the paring knife on the table and a potato from the heaping pile spilled out between the men.

Ulysses turns and waves his hand backward in dismissal. He grabs a bottle of whiskey from a shelf and moves back to the saloon floor. “Potato soup with a side of potatoes, gonna be a real hit around here.”

Frederick shakes his head, sighing before rubbing at his temple with one hand.

“Oh come on, it’s all in a little fun. I’ll make sure I go with Amos next time he goes to Valentine. I still haven’t been up there.” You laugh, trying to assuage your husband’s stress.

He cracks a smile over thin lips. “Amos could use some guidance …- ”

“Amos could use some babysitting …” you interject, pointing the knife’s edge at him in jest for a second before you return to peeling a potato.

Frederick snorts, bemused. “You are the wisest woman on the face of the earth, Missus Shaw.”

You smirk back at him, one eyebrow raised, “Course I am, someone has to run this town.”

“Hey, Mister Shaw! Wagon train’s here!” Ulysses yells from the front, “Amos, get your ass back there and help Missus Shaw with the cookin!”

“Shit,” Frederick mutters, pulling a pocketwatch from his vest, “sun’ll be down shortly too. Didn’t expect them this quick.”

You toss the peeled potato into a bucket of water, reaching for another one. “It’s fine. Give the boys a drink and we’ll have a pot of soup ready within the hour. It cooks fast. Get Amos back in here peelin’ spuds and I can get it out even quicker.”

Frederick nods, moving toward the door, “Amos, c’mon and help Ruth out!”

You smile to yourself, peeling the brown skin from the potato with the knife in your hand. It falls to the table in neat ribbons. By the time you have peeled your fourth potato and thrown it into the bucket, you turn toward the door, wondering where your help is. You sigh, placing the knife on the table and wiping your hands off on the apron tied at your waist.

Pushing through the door, you’re about to give Amos a piece of your mind until you enter the main room of the saloon. From behind the bar, you see that a large group of men have entered, spreading throughout the room, sitting at various tables, at the bar, and mulling about. 

One in particular stands in front of your husband. Frederick’s arms are crossed over his chest, which usually isn’t good. You catch Ulysses’s eye, who warily glances from you back to the large man in front of your husband.

“You Frederick Shaw?” The leader, a grizzled-looking man with black stains on his work jeans, eyed Frederick up and down.

“Yeah, how can I help you?” Frederick replies with a hint of skepticism in his voice.

“Misters Spence and Cornwall urge ya to reconsider their offer there, Mister Shaw.” The man drawls, hands resting on his belt, a holstered revolver barely in view under his leather jacket.

Frederick’s eyes narrow. “Misters Spence and Cornwall know my answer. And they know they can’t do anything legally to change my mind or take my land.”

The man in front of him snorts, running his hand through his scruffy beard. “Now, ya see here, Mister Shaw, that’s the wrong answer .” He nods to another man over his shoulder, a large brute of an oilman, with hard eyes and hands permanently stained black, “Hartley.”

The man named Hartley moved forward, a dark scowl on his face. He slams his palms on a circular table in the center of the room, grasping it, and throwing it over. Glass crashes and breaks on the floor as the tabletop splinters.

“Gents, I think Mister Shaw here needs come convincin’.” The leader laughs, as a few men fan out and start smashing chairs, overturning tables, and throwing glass against the wall and floors.

“That’s enough!” A voice booms from the swinging door.

Hilliard Stockdale stands in the doorway of the saloon, his recently polished badge bright on his chest. “By authority of the State of New Hanover, I order you to stop,” he drawls in a low, cold voice.

The men stop their destruction, eyes on the sheriff. The leader moseys, completely unconcerned, toward the middle-aged lawman.

Stockdale places his hand on his holstered revolver. “Now, you boys best be leavin’.”

“And you best know better than to quarrel with Mister Cornwall.”

The deafening roar of a gunshot pierces the air.  Within the confines of the saloon, it echoes loudly. Your hands move to cover your ears instantly as you scream, unable to silence yourself as the scene unfurls into chaos. The sheriff coughs, his hand slowly moving to his chest. He touched his sternum, pulling his hand back, covered in blood. He coughs again, blood sputtering from between his lips. Hilliard Stockdale’s eyes roll back as he falls to the floor. The world seems to move in slow motion.

You scream again, your hands trailing from your ears to your cheeks, your eyes wide with horror from your vantage point behind the bar.

You’re tackled to the floor, dragged below the bartop, and shoved down, a hand on the back of your head. “Ruth, c’mon, come with me!” A harsh whisper in your ear. You turn your head slightly from the floor, seeing Ulysses hovering over you, his hand moving from the back of your head to between your shoulders, grabbing at the back of your shirt and pulling you toward the door to the back room. He lets go once you raise yourself to your hands and knees. You crawl toward the back room, remaining crouched to the ground until you reach the table you had just been working at. Pulling yourself up, you gasp, your heart racing.

“Y’alright? Miss Ruth?” Ulysses places one hand on your shoulder and the other on the small of your back. 

You nod, placing both of your hands on the table trying to catch your breath. Ulysses nods, grabbing a large butcher’s knife from the table, “You stay back here, Missus Shaw,” he says urgently as he moves back toward the floor of the saloon.

Glass breaking and wood smashing reverberated from the main room as you try to catch your breath, you slowly move around the table to face the door, grabbing at another knife as you hear men shout and raised voices from the other room.

The door bursts open and you hold the knife ahead of you, knowing that you would have to claw your way out of this situation.

“Ruth!” Frederick moves around the table as you lower the knife. His temple trickled blood as he grabbed a long fire iron from along the side of the wall. 

“What’s happening? Who are those men?” You yell, wide-eyed while still grasping the butcher’s knife.

“Ruth, get in the house and lock the door. There’s a rifle behind the wardrobe in the bedroom. Go now. ” Frederick orders, ushering you out the back door of the saloon. 

“But-!”

“ Now , Ruth, I mean it.”

“Frederick-”

 “ Calluna .”

You stop, knowing that this fight is over. Your nose crinkles as your eyes water. “Be careful.”

“I will.” Frederick grabs you, kissing your forehead, before pushing you out the door. 

You gather your skirts and run behind Amos and Ulysses’ cabin, hoping that the men outside the saloon don’t see you dart across the lane. You edge closer to the stone structure of the jail, hiding behind it. Ducking around the corner, you look at the group of men perched outside the saloon. There had to be fifteen of them, surrounding a wagon loaded with what looked like barrels. You just had to make it around the Sheriff’s office before you could sneak into your house.

Breathing heavily, you run towards the wooden building, hiding behind it. You hear a man inside, furniture moving, glass smashing. It's obvious that he’s looting the office. What does he have to fear now? Sheriff Stockdale lies still on the saloon floor, bleeding out into a puddle.

From the back of the sheriff’s office, you steal the last few meters to your cabin, wrenching open the back door and locking it. You rush to the front window, falling to your knees to hide yourself as much as possible and still have a vantage across the lane to the saloon.

There have to be fifteen men, several of them standing on the saloon’s porch, mulling about. You look at their wagons further down the lane, closer to the riverbank. Three wagons were full of what looked like barrels, painted blue. Two men pull a barrel out from the wagon, walking it together back toward the saloon and the men’s cabin.

They set it down against the wall of Amos’ cabin, one man brushing the other one back as he pulls a matchbook from his jacket. He kicks the bottom of the barrel before taking several steps back. Lighting the match, he flicks it toward the barrel, which ignites with a burst of flame, and the cabin’s wooden frame catches alight. You gasp, dread pooling in your stomach as you watch several of the men unloading the blue barrels from the wagons, walking them toward different buildings.

You squint to look clearer at a barrel placed on the saloon’s porch, and can barely make out the name CORNWALL stamped on the wood. This wasn't happening. You had heard that Leviticus Cornwall was pushy, but this? Arson, murder?

Where was Frederick? Amos? Ulysses? Were they all still in the saloon?

Another barrel is lit, and you can see out the edge of the window that the Sheriff’s office next to your cabin is ablaze.

Shouts bring your gaze back to the saloon, where the door bursts open and two men drag Ulysses out, throwing him to the ground. He struggles to get up, blood pouring from his nose and mouth, as one of the men kicks him back into the mud, laughing.

One of the men pulls Ulysses up by the collar with one hand, the other one unholstering the revolver from his belt.

Again, the world seems like it moves in slow motion as the man points his revolver at Ulysses’ head and pulls the trigger.

You barely cover your mouth as you scream. Ulysses’s body hits the ground, lifeless.

There’s little time to mourn, as one of the rough men outside the door hears the noise through the window, making unfortunate eye contact with you before you duck underneath the window frame, your hand covering your mouth as you edge on hyperventilating.

“Why Miss, don’t you want to let me in?” The man yells, pulling hard on the locked door, “Darlin’, please!”

You hear laughter as you rush away from the front door and into the bedroom, throwing the door closed behind you. Rounding around the room, you push hard against the wardrobe in the corner of your room, pulling out a rifle from behind it. Glass breaks in the background.

You jerk back the bolt of the rifle as you raise it toward the door, cursing yourself for all the times Amos offered to show you how to shoot and you brushed him off. Expecting the door to be broken down, you aim the rifle at the door, squinting with one eye, ready to shoot whoever came in. You didn’t expect the glass to break on your side. You scream, nearly dropping the rifle, and throwing yourself to the floor. The bedroom window glass has been broken out by a flying object.

You look along the floor and curse, realizing that the window had been broken out by a bottle of whiskey wrapped with a burning rag, flaming across the floor. The rug along the floor immediately caught fire, and you jump to your feet, grasping the rifle and running toward the bedroom door back to the main area of the cabin. 

The door is hot, which you painfully learn by grabbing the metal handle. You yell, stumbling back, cradling your hand as you drop the rifle to the floor. Black smoke starts to creep under the door, along with the burning rug on the other side of the bed, the room begins to fill with smoke as the fire spreads quickly. You back into the far corner, coughing as you slide to the floor as the flames grow.

The heat, blazing, suffocating, choking  - you’re curled up in that corner of the room, shielding your face from the fire that surrounds you. It is deafening, the sound of the wooden cabin alight. You cough against the thick and hazy smoke, unable to see, unable to breathe, unable to escape. What used to be a post of your bed falls a few feet in front of you, exploding into sparks as you scream, trying to pedal yourself back against the wall.

“Frederick!” You yell again, hoarse, praying that your husband could hear you, but in the pit of your stomach, you knew neither he nor anyone else could. You throw yourself to your stomach, pulling yourself on your elbows against the wall, you had to get out .

A low-pitched groan of breaking wood was the only warning you received as one of the rafter beams collapsed to the floor. You were barely able to cover your head before the piece of the beam crashed down, knocking the wind from your lungs as it pinned your upper body to the ground. You scream, a hoarse, cursed sound, as you try to pull yourself out from underneath it, for not only was it trapping you, but embers chipped away at the wood, so hot against your shoulder.

It was too much. The heat, the smoke, the pain, the violence. This was it, this was where you were going to die, burned to death in the house you built, as the town of your design burned along with you. Your eyesight starts to fade in and out as you cough, trying to dislodge yourself again, in vain. Your shoulder hurts so much, it's so hot, why won’t it stop ? Above the roar of the fire, the groan of wood breaking, the sounds of dreams dying, you swear you could hear your name.

“Ruth!”

It must be a dream, you must be dying. The weight lifting from across your body must be the sweet release from these earthly bounds.

“Ruth! Ruth, come on, say something.”

It was Frederick, pulling, yanking, grasping at you.  Blood cakes the side of his face. You feel, rather than hear, the scream that escapes your lips as your husband grasps your shoulder to pull you from under the charred piece of wood.  His hand pulls away quickly, but you feel his arms wrap around your ribcage under your arm, he throws that arm across his shoulder. He pulls you up, attempting to walk you along the wall. 

You stumble, and Frederick winds his hands around your waist and he heaves you over his shoulder, you moan in pain as he moves quickly through the remains of the house, kicking the back door open and stumbling to the rear yard, coughing as he sinks to one knee to let you down from his shoulder. Another set of hands grabs you, pulling you as you trip and stumble on unsteady feet.

You hear Aethon scream in the background, the horse’s hooves hitting the ground hard in agitation.

“Darlin’, Ruth, come on, up you go.”

“A-Amos?”

You’re heaved up, hands pushing and pulling as you groan in pain, barely able to keep your eyes open. You’re barely able to stay upright, tipping backward.

“Ruth, love, stay with me.” 

Frederick’s voice is soft in your ear, and you are jostled forward again, but you feel his arm wrap around you as he pulls you back, against him. 

You’re atop the damned horse, and with a sudden burst of energy, you jerk back to awareness. Frederick is in the saddle behind you, Amos tries to steady and calm Aethon as the horse stomps angrily. You gaze past the paddock, where smoke and flame reflect as far as you can see. Your cabin, the store, the sheriff’s office. The saloon. All of Limpany burns before you.

“Go, Mister Shaw, I’ll be right behind you,” Amos yells, backing away from Aethon and moving toward his own horse across the paddock.

A gunshot pierces the night and Aethon rears with a scream. You groan as Frederick pulls hard on the reins, his arm clenching you hard to him as he tries to keep you both from tumbling off the large work horse. Frederick curses loudly, digging his spurs into Aethon’s sides and pushing the horse to move, breaking through the gate of the paddock and into a gallop toward the road on the riverbank.

“Amos…” You trail off into a moan, your hands trying to hold onto Aethon’s mane to steady yourself. Fortunately, Frederick’s hold on you is steady and strong.

"Amos is dead, Ruth.” He grits out, digging his spurs into Aethon again, pushing him faster, harder. A pained sound escapes you, and every jolt of the horse’s gait goes right to your shoulder, bursting in pain, pain, pain.

Your eyes roll back- Surely, this must be a nightmare. Surely, this must be a terrible dream. One you’ll wake from and Limpany will be as it was this morning, bright and full of the promise of the future. 

“Ruth-!”

Unconsciousness steals you like a thief in the night.

[albywritesfiction]

In customization, including facial hair could be fun as well.

As for hairstyles, depends on the culture of the kingdom but some ideas:

- I hate the name but hair snoods, renaissance (The Borgias TV show had some beautiful styles with these sorts of hairnets), and similarly the Juliet Cap (again, renaissance style). (another show with pretty hairstyles was Spartacus)

-Veils or cauls are always fancy and fun- especially if hair gets in the way of culturally perceived modesty

-Low buns, tight curls, feathered accents, flowers, bouffants, pinned and twisted plaits, chignon, crown dutch braids, with ribbons and pearl pins in cultures where hair is part of fashion and a way to showcase a persons status (poor people don't have time to put their hair in pretty curls, let alone keep them nice trying to survive)

-Maidens might get to wear their hair down, or half up/down when a bit older, where married women/older woman must pin it up and away (could be for men too- or perhaps it's to be cut when married and regrown idk)

-Beards and mustaches (could just be one or the other) also would be very important on style- which comes with like mustache and beard wax. How long a beard is allowed to be to be "proper" perhaps clean cut is a dandy like figure. Or beards are a sign you aren't taking care of yourself and its a sign of degeneracy and everybody is to be clean shaven besides impressive, fanciful mutton chops idk if any of this is what you were thinking, but is just a few ideas to toss around and see what sticks. Deciding what kind of culture or style the kingdom is could really help narrow down how to explain the fashions if that's important for the world- which I know I'd personally love to have included and explored especially as we get to play nobility so we get to be very extra and fanciful with it

Hello Anon!

Oooh thank you for all your great suggestions! I especially appreciate how detailed each of your bullet points are 😄 Once I have a long enough break, I'm definitely going to just sit down for a long while and go through all the helpful advice and tips I've received 😊

[sanpakueyes17]

Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeepers Association monthly meeting Down at the Men in Music Business Conference Down in Orlando, I was only nineteen

Crowley would wear a snood.

[scotianostra]

The Romantic Poet Lord Byron died on 19th April 1824.

George Gordon Noel, sixth Baron of Byron was born in London on January 22nd 1788 to Captain John Byron and Catherine Gordon, heiress of Gight in Aberdeenshire.

After his father, known as “Mad Jack”, had frivolled away much of her fortune, Catherine whisked her son away to Aberdeen in 1789 where he spent his formative years, it was this time that left a mark on the romantic poet, he always saw himself as a Scot after this.

  His father died when he was three, his half-sister was shipped off to live with their maternal grandmother, and he lived in miserable lodgings with his volatile, depressed mother and their abusive nurse. Aged ten his great-uncle William unexpectedly died in 1789, leaving young Byron to take up the reigns as sixth Baton Byron of Rochdale. The family moved to Newstead Abbey in Nottinghamshire, and he was later educated at Harrow and The University of Cambridge.

Despite enduring such ordeals as a young child in the north east of Scotland, the poet was empowered by his Scottish bloodline. Aged just 19, he wrote of his love for the northern countryside in ‘Hours of Idleness’, distinctly unimpressed by the comparatively barren landscapes of the south, the evidence is  in the third verse of the poem Dark Lochnagar, for those unconvinced about his “Scottishness”

  England! thy beauties are tame and domestic

To one who has roved on the mountains afar

Oh for the crags that are wild and majestic

The steep frowning glories o’ wild Lochnagar.

As the poet entered into his late teens and early twenties, his life was quickly overwhelmed by scandal – among his affairs with married women, actresses and young men, it is thought he had a child with his half-sister Augusta, five years his elder, a scandalous life at any time, let alone 18th century England!

In what is considered his masterpiece, Don Jaun, he again hankers back to Scotland, the work is over 500 pages long, split into canto’s. Canto X (ten) gives us another wee glimpse with….

But I am half a Scot by birth, and bred A whole one, and my heart flies to my head, —

As “Auld Lang Syne” brings Scotland, one and all,     Scotch plaids, Scotch snoods, the blue hills, and clear streams, The Dee — the Don — Balgounie’s brig’s black wall,     All my boy feelings, all my gentler dreams Of what I then dreamt, clothed in their own pall,     Like Banquo’s offspring; — floating past me seems My childhood in this childishness of mine: I care not — ‘t is a glimpse of “Auld Lang Syne.”

And though, as you remember, in a fit     Of wrath and rhyme, when juvenile and curly, I rail’d at Scots to show my wrath and wit,     Which must be own’d was sensitive and surly, Yet ‘t is in vain such sallies to permit,     They cannot quench young feelings fresh and early: “scotch’d not kill’d” the Scotchman in my blood, And love the land of “mountain and of flood.”

Byron's body was embalmed but his heart buried under a tree in Messolonghi in Greece. His remains were sent to England for burial in Westminster Abbey, but for some reason the Abbey refused.

He is buried at the Church of St. Mary Magdalene in Hucknall in the family vault.

In later years, the Abbey allowed a duplicate of a marble slab given by the King of Greece, which is laid directly above Byron's grave. In 1969, 145 years after Byron's death, a memorial to him was finally placed in Westminster Abbey.

[byneddiedingo]

Robert Helpmann and Moira Shearer in The Red Shoes (Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, 1948) Cast: Anton Walbrook, Moira Shearer, Marius Goring, Robert Helpmann, Léonide Massine, Ludmilla Tchérina, Esmond Knight, Albert Bassermann, Austin Trevor, Irene Browne. Screenplay: Emeric Pressburger, Keith Winter, Michael Powell, based on a story by Hans Christian Andersen. Cinematography: Jack Cardiff. Production design: Hein Heckroth. Film editing: Reginald Mills. Music: Brian Easdale. Costume design: Hein Heckroth. In its digital restoration, The Red Shoes almost certainly looks better than it ever did even in the most optimal theatrical showing, its colors brighter and sharper, its darks deeper and more detailed. But is that necessarily a good thing? I'm not like one of those audiophiles who insist that old vinyl LPs sound better than CDs or any digital audio process -- I like being able to hear things without surface pops and skips. But I do think that in the case of a film like The Red Shoes, where suspension of disbelief is essential, something has been lost. The great red snood of Moira Shearer's hair is revealed to be a thing of individual strands that might have benefited from a quick brushing before her closeups. The special-effects moments, like Vicky's (Shearer) leap into the red shoes or Boleslawsky's (Robert Helpmann) transformation into the newspaper man, are more glaringly just rudimentary jump cuts. There's a loss of glamour and magic that hasn't been compensated for, even though we can now see Jack Cardiff's photography of Hein Heckroth's designs with greater clarity. I will also admit that I have never been in the front ranks of the fans of The Red Shoes. While I admire the storytelling ability of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, I have to question the moral of the story, which seems to be that a woman can't have both a great career and a successful private life, or in a larger sense, that art is impossible without a loss of self. Granted, the story comes from the realm of fairytale, which is never without an element of cruelty, but is Vicky's suicide a necessary follow-through, or just a submission on the part of the screenwriters to the demands of some kind of closure, given that they've never made the character more than a stereotype: the woman torn between the demands of two men? Ravishing to the eye, The Red Shoes doesn't satisfy the mind or the heart.

[deathlessathanasia]

“Minoan women’s garb was quite elaborate. The upper body was covered with a short-sleeved, form-fitted bodice that revealed the breasts. The lower body was adorned with a flounced skirt that could be covered with an apron. A variation appearing on the Theran frescoes shows a young girl in what appears to be a short-sleeved bodice, but with the entire body covered in a thick wrap, knotted over one shoulder and descending to the floor. Necklaces, earrings, and bracelets were common. Male costume, at least as portrayed in the art, was rather sparse. Young boys might appear nude or wearing only a belt. At a minimum, the adult males wore nothing but a penile sheath with accompanying dagger. Both Minoan and Egyptian frescoes show Minoan males wearing fuller kilts, perhaps as more formal attire. In cooler weather, a cloak covered the body. Like the women, men would sometimes wear jewelry. Long hair seems to have been the norm for the Minoans, although children had their heads shaven so that only a few long tendrils remained. Women wore their hair down or in a snood, depending on age. Older males may have had shorter hair, once again to judge from the Theran evidence.”

 - The Ancient Greeks: New Perspectives, by Stephanie Lynn Budin

[heterochromicnachos]

Things I have Learned from a discord argument.

2k12 splinter is now a Turkey. He is a trans trains Turkey.

Someone thinks 2k12 splinter is hot and everyone disagrees.

2k12 splinter’s beard is in fact a beard, and not a snood or a whisker.

2k12 splinter’s action figures are uglier.

2k12 splinter is friend shaped.

2k12 splinter needs to let Donnie use his tech.

2k12 splinter is an old ugly Turkey man.

All splinter iterations that are not 2k12 are stinky dusty rat men.

Rats can indeed boogie

Don’t google rat monkey. If you do wither be prepared to freak or be awed.

This all started by talking about fictional crushes

Kaz is the mod for the people

And more horrible things to come.

[anjalisinghh12]

Embrace Cozy Comfort with Knitted Hoods: A Fashion Essential for Chilly Days

As the temperatures drop and winter settles in, there's nothing quite like the cozy comfort of a knitted hood to keep you warm and stylish. Knitted hoods, also known as snoods or hooded scarves, have become a popular fashion accessory for both men and women, offering a versatile and practical way to stay snug and chic in cold weather. From their humble origins to their modern-day popularity, let's explore the allure of knitted hoods and why they've become a must-have item in every winter wardrobe.

Versatile and Stylish

One of the key features of knitted hoods is their versatility. Unlike traditional scarves or hats, knitted hoods offer the convenience of both in one stylish package. Whether worn draped around the neck like a scarf or pulled up over the head like a hood, knitted hoods provide endless styling possibilities to suit any outfit or occasion. Pair them with a casual sweater and jeans for a laid-back look, or layer them under a coat for added warmth and style on chilly days.

Warmth Without Bulk

Despite their cozy appearance, knitted hoods are surprisingly lightweight and compact, making them the perfect choice for those who want to stay warm without feeling weighed down by bulky layers. Knitted from soft, insulating yarns like wool, cashmere, or acrylic, knitted hoods offer superior warmth and comfort without sacrificing style or mobility. Whether you're braving the cold on a winter hike or enjoying a leisurely stroll through the city, a knitted hood provides the perfect balance of warmth and freedom of movement.

A Creative Outlet

For those with a passion for knitting or crochet, knitted hoods offer a creative outlet to showcase their skills and express their personal style. With countless patterns and tutorials available online, aspiring knitters can easily create their own custom-designed hoods in a variety of colors, textures, and stitch patterns. Whether you're a novice knitter looking for a simple project or an experienced crafter seeking a new challenge, knitting a hood allows you to unleash your creativity and produce a one-of-a-kind accessory that's as unique as you are.

The Perfect Gift

Knitted hoods also make thoughtful and practical gifts for friends and loved ones. Whether you're celebrating a birthday, holiday, or special occasion, a handmade knitted hood is sure to be appreciated for its warmth, style, and sentimentality. Customize the hood to suit the recipient's tastes and preferences, whether they prefer classic neutrals, bold colors, or playful patterns. With a knitted hood, you're not just giving a gift – you're giving the gift of warmth, comfort, and style.

In conclusion, knitted hoods are more than just a fashion accessory – they're a symbol of warmth, comfort, and style. From their practical origins to their modern-day popularity, knitted hoods offer versatility, warmth, and style in equal measure. Whether you're braving the cold outdoors or cozying up indoors, a knitted hood is the perfect companion for chilly days and nights. Embrace the cozy comfort and timeless style of knitted hoods, and make them a staple in your winter wardrobe this season

[whennnow]

Making Medieval Plans

October 3, 2023

[Image ID: a photo of Alex in a pink medieval tunic and dark belt, posing with a straw hat and small basket and pretending to wipe her forehead.]

With basic SCA garb done (in the form of my t-tunics), I can start making more elaborate, long-term plans.

Nothing is concrete yet, but I want to do this in a strategic way so that I don't end up with partial outfits for multiple eras.

My goal with each era is to make a small capsule-style wardrobe which I can later add to and upgrade, while still knowing that everything will go together well. I've already decided on color schemes for the Greco-Roman stuff (sage green and slate blue) and the 13-14th centuries (blue, oranges and yellows, small amounts of green and pink).

13th Century (1200-1299 AD) (vaguely English/French)

My t-tunic are a great base for the 1300s, and I'll just need some accessories to really pull off this era. I don't have much interest in this era, so I'm aiming for a general look as a branching-off point for other eras (and so I always have backup garb).

Other than the historical-looking crocheted snood I'm working on right now, my first priority is a white linen veil and wimple, and probably a simple cap to wear them over. A barbette and filet/"pie crust hat" could be made to go with the snood/hairnet if I want to double down on the last quarter of the 13th century.

A drawstring bag to wear from my belt is also high on the list, but I can use some of my Regency reticules for now.

For some variety in over-layers, a cyclas (like a sleeveless overdress) or two out of thrifted sheets would be easy, as would some sort of mantle/cape.

I might work on under-layers while I'm in this era, too, just to really have the basics down. (Or to really procrastinate.) A simple linen smock, probably a supportive linen smock, maybe some hose (stockings) and braies (technically men's underwear).

14th Century (1300-1399) (vaguely English/French)

This was my original goal when I got into the SCA, and still my favorite!

The cap, veils, bags, and any underthings I've done already will be a good starting point here, and allow me to focus on larger pieces.

If I haven't made one already, a supportive linen smock with a wide neckline will have to be my first priority here, since I will be the foundation garment for my fitted cotes/kirtles (dresses).

Next up is the kirtles themselves! I should be able to use the supportive smock pattern as a starting point for these. One is necessary. Two-three in different colors is ideal. I bought a slightly too-large one in dark blue from another SCA-dian which will be refashioned to fit me. I'd also like a tawny/orange one.

The 13th-century cyclas evolved into the sideless-surcote. One sideless surcote would be fine, especially if it is reversible. These were often statement pieces, so something silk-like would be best. Maybe one side in a golden yellow and one side a pink/peach?

In the third quarter of the century (~1350-1375) a second, usually short-sleeved kirtle could also be worn, often with tippets (white armbands with streamers) and fitchets (pocket slits, usually bound in white). One of these is probably enough, and it's a low-priority project. Probably a middling or lighter shade of blue.

Hoods are an important cold-weather accessory. I'd like at least two wool hoods - one in an earlier style and one in a later style. I have enough cotton from my t-tunics left over to line one hood with each color.

Misc Accessories

I managed to thrift a nice, generic-looking straw hat which is suitable for most of the medieval era. I also have one of those long leather belts with a metal ring at one end that you see on a lot of SCA/ren faire/fantasy outfits.

A simple linen apron would be a quick project and should be plausible for the 13-14th centuries.

I've started accumulating a vaguely medieval sewing kit, which I would like to continue adding to and upgrading. I even have a lucet fork, which I'm excited to learn to use! These currently live in a small, stained linen pouch, which in turn lives in a thrifted wicker basket. The basket is about the size of a small purse, and is a good size for carrying at smaller events.

Speaking of bags, I also have a large, heavy-duty linen market bag which I made at a local workshop! It's a bit too big for most of my needs right now, but I imagine it would be nice for bigger events. A smaller one might also be nice if I can find something suitably heavy-duty.

Other

I'd also like to upgrade my ancient Roman ensemble with maybe a new chiton, some sort of decorative border on the pallas, and maybe even a patterned stola.

Eventually I'd like to take a stab at a 1490s/northern Italian Renaissance ensemble too, but that's even further down the line. (Colors: maroon, yellow, and warm pink.)

[libidomechanica]

“If to know what Heart beating green”

A curtal sonnet sequence

               1

And yet in his Bed, but to giue th’eternal law; and dearest on the grasses and blythe by the in Glenturit glen. Be sure I didn’t mind. If to know what Heart beating green. The wretch did know, has taken for it— ’t is gone. For what suited well? Thee I both comes Indigestion, to show me worse, in the bud of mine came to be kind: so will let me, tired with such miracles. For ever yet who complexion’d all that my hell.

               2

Grew and lay no means can move in a rabbit’s burrow in arms already, known the gory bloody crusades, and sigh’d, or ouer- wise. The Lady Carolines and Musk she knows, it is snooded sae sleeves o’ her way, since, hand against my misfortune’s matrimonial bounties he took to recite what he could not live by love it? For beings, then, light, to the snow covered and see the ridge of the lonely offices of pee.

               3

Already how am I not for thoughts and charm no more soft, lute-fingers seeking the rose and, coming of Michelangelo. Case. But feet. Apart i carry in thee her fears, and all who can be deceived before, I think that sting. Once fondly once was more the fading springs with care, how lang ye. The ruddy strife of heat. And cakes anticipated as several score of which t is not hear the lythe Carpet of men?

               4

Since his body so your part of melodies; and now the sweet boy; but once in content; so runn’st thou find’st no such eyes turn’d the shouting, each would tell; my pass, and follow too, the other, then swearest, granted. Inevitable Outside in a rabbit’s burrow or nest for a woman’s moan. Too daring—platonic for play, ye villains! The good, good mien excited generative errours do abhor, with a dribbed she breathe hill?

               5

The French hood and mien, especially aught of Heaven in themselves were, it will, and a palpitating be the humblest when the Early, like a brow. Was receipt with an equally knelt, and stare Aghast. What I do to the moth-time of two, and the dark waters run as in this blood; it grew: he wrote, and rare flowers, footless by kiss it the words to shatter delight, what thou would perfumes in my lip. Must always too change!

               6

Wordsworth while, but winds to wander as the worst end of better claimed him advanced and if he knew all. Cupid in their tongue wad fyle thy soul’s eyes. Where is the men eager, but yet fast with thou but one time, and in pride flowers to reconciled so the humblest whenever tongue wag throat was mine, ’ he cross thee, thought, weigh the skies; and honey to save his finger’d Muse with the Foam upon his Bounty, should send it sat in the sun.

               7

Of Her, salámán how should not half water, half reticence is destiny, other tons, ’ which in her breath. Burn to pot. On my boys, come one less translated Hercules Furens’ into a crescent of peace when the ghost of repose, and thy name is a silence and of Michelangelo. The fault was on to the gold coin of Pity soothing scandal of green, and the fault was my Moscow, and palely loiter behind.

               8

For its becoming night cheap hotels, st. Madam, step had pass’d in visit; the problems they made income, and singing seal’d to wood, fairing that dignity of them, his side of Jove’s lap, a true it was a Greeks’ love to any, who live on for a passionless wilds; here peals the universe my indolent seas. And therefore him till Easter. Old England, and, that make me given in carriage be whitest she cried; ah, curs’d duke!

               9

Eat it feels! Ah, happy he whole world far behind himself from a branches girls to the guns of country’s good—which way it can ail thee. All to your list, strands her last, points on to peep in at you, deare, how dear loveliness a labor in participated to turn to point is it not the truth, it had returne, I ween, i’m rich, celebrated, sprawling o’er the human race, the surprise when thy tread, whatever a moments!

               10

Think he was to shame, nor lies beyond then he arose, and full of seasoned body’s healèd me, if ye gie a button for joy or sorrows in your will never guilty hand, neither secret plot revealed into another answer wisht them shot by the his ransom of their burthens, meaning on to secret walls what did not holds a bee, and your dream it wasn’t making because of Love, the soft, lute-fingers, asleep.—Juan yet quick eyes?

               11

To my coat, or should love, Jamie, come; come, poor beauty lies, while there mails fast by those red mourne, starke blind and living authors pass, pall Mall, except they be happiness. In this wings. A bright me molested. No clock count I lay, he burn’d him loiterings, a things sparkling skull, and vainer ties dwell by degrees and yet was ne’er wealth my duty still then to adored. In those pallid beam almost, yea, more my Sun-flowers to dark lawn.

               12

I am not amidst royal itch and the loue the thin! But ministers throw around I warily oped her cheek, and the city by such as then all the ocean is stepping like slaue-borne aloft with your one handsome, i’ll say: But how high! Myself to me. Before we all this, that the worldy blisse enherit neuer: stellas rayes, reason when thou think he wishes longer brows that he is furious call’d Salámán.

               13

But I was this heart.-Drops, as I roll’d the pear from elsewhere are the ice chest tiptoe to rove: make the river to soothing scandal of lilies, and I do not mine eyes for us. His after the flocks the Heav’n from a woodland so knowing the forks. Six days unkind abuse. Those which on the emblem in the remnant of hurt! In safety to th’ ears in the summer of eve; and some laid us as well and gave me thee well.

               14

Faded be, and Spirit went to see the Divinity on the Return of tiffanie or cobweb lawn. Here are thin hair! May bring foremost in woman’s intent upon a visited, odd time to me: such hazard, when love’s eternall crimson clouds do blot the fires made, by a Tombe did see its foot could I presume? Whether thither. His Satire ended; and neat little that is not what is left then continent’s early days.

               15

Nor pause, nor time; and that touch without any mother it malinger, we shall be of love’s ghosts gliding. Friend! Is not that was she shut her neck did crawl, and now, the vegetables cooked. And Hoigh for her steep her looking- glass, his system t is not say shall now the mind, where yet hath taken tea in smiling a sort of heart as his. By the feeble vassalage thy sordid bounties he took the sun, and for so devout, psalterian.

               16

Swore he take your true: to proper place book. Our foretold and lost nymph prepare that will on a secret troth and I would in winds they had a wife she white star that’s no step after tea and which now her. World far behind. Let me passion something occurs too, as those martyrs burnt at all, and we have seen some who shoes, the stripes, and living me on the quaking gently to this. Such miracles. But Orpheus come—falling—come, my God.

               17

My soft perfumes of unlovely eyes prove amongst living me, and tumbling bird’s flutter laughing and go talking of thine, and fears numbers mix my son to sew by death-pale moon build in whose phosphor and drop in thy preserued, his hands from fear, sweet selfe on Vertue, thoughts shouting songs the spring to the mind, and virulent; her hair is Music slumbered over the yellow to follow birds sing. Nor idle boy that to do.

               18

A passion have confess that same harpy. Then glided out his bosom heavenly can unloose, body and for a woman a’ her wings, streaming the fault the world. And next to escape the Yes of a Host, nor tears he prospects name the way it innumeral; also the plain sae rashy, O, I set me best can ail their prey; he said i’m going: but immortal foe and Reigns lord of traveled by the shadowy worldy bliss!

               19

I exulted; nay, and we sit on for his Face, the last she would write. Me is; I may, I wish they clove the valley night dye: but, finding on so unprovident. Which the nice replied, tis strange, will you stole that light is Royal Augury should lie to vale, from his dressing among the Garment of love of war turn’d himself more writing up at once best look, set down for a hundred this use I looked down, it seem’d to get more world!

               20

But whene’er sae sweet hue, while Loue on me gracious sisters admitted the honey, for witty, my falterian. Fair virgin limbs through all the time has a poet’s matrimonial bounties he too brief for a mere taverns wooing too, as thou hast thou deny’st me she dang me, especially if new, and Hoigh for her walie nieves like a distant Sylvio, when the time disgrace. Spreads, wax less truth’s rays, spoil not mock me.

               21

Languages—as well the Lawlands I now must be changes, downright guid will, to sing of that with loved me dead. The turns to call’d Parks, ’ where my hate. A poisoned rocks on the Hour of Hate; for true survey of which on thorn is stirred by publicly imparted to th’ effect, for love in all pain enough they pleading rose in time of doubt! So that art is dust at the smoke that way;— juan yet quick eyes? The one the good minutes apart.

               22

That arise in the Seashore, you warbling afterwards fall inflam’d through thy looks along them, no doubted, not evening a pillars? To fold in which served in return’d my guileless the little the insolent soldiery to kind: so that shine breakfast, sat by the bugle’s cares arise in a newspaper posted onto the sea in the other, soone as frail of her hair black, so will do; but the tribunes’ crew; and lassie, O.

               23

And, neither of silence breast with which done, your tea with strange in the flowers, newly read, the fill’d, and rack and modest grief looked up his Neck to yoke of heart a-dying. Or proud companions less transient, and merry was softest, Russian or Castilian? So, when by my selfe the list grows the found himself into sublime as the was a paragon. A unique loves; and allow the curious pleasant in a wagon at dawn.

               24

And grinning is always seem at such a day of error. Us canonized for her! Back Her, nor time; and, fool I was this way like dead pretender is done so as Sylvio, when all his quick eyes? Thou shalt be in love’s austere and palpitate his withered from her neck; her eye. I’d like sun grows warm wet mouth of a pleasantly by playing, her eyes: what he knew to redress: but with a song of neither way, with your charm.

               25

But my name: but there was take time, and all her face flush’d moment stand unministers story—an old me, so in her elfin blood to walk, perhaps; but still a Higher views upon her, through the Shore devis’d a Shallop like seasons have seen they meant, nor time that which doth common mother’s knees that grows faire, honor, or doest the cooling the fool who with strange in his Feet. I have bitter gate; then the unregenerative error.

               26

Where these hymns, all faith! But Juan was but afternoon, and as he strike for me that from thee! At last—at last straw and kissing is in miseries, a modest complain, else men are the milk-white from high inspiring the comes in a golden chalice, drank. Home, Euclid, Decatur, Union, Straubs, Rebecca, Bennett Ave. And aspirant to be sung, it seem’d to blushes for Sin.— We stands upon her head: and thus vse them, dear Jane!

               27

Seem strong, and follow took life as Willie had, I wadna gie a buttocks, and judg’d, and modest grace the harvest. So young Jove with your brain captiu’d in shall approving or else to boast how she then, you and I, its pure Sugar first I it at mine eye may spare, when rising like a velvet landscape a velvets, plushes granted. I wash of a Host, from the Royal Stem,—a Perfume from death! She had got out of the corners seem!

               28

Contemplate; time ere long will let me breathe beauty, like the lucky hour, when Cloe is my boon! Blushed wight me move to lift a black. The Druids’ groves around he might’s permanent among thy grief’s strengthen us that has truth before he could not gall, is fancy but reality distracts her lord was come try me. Pious dukes an aspire. By sea-girls to the sea. With white arms and kissing again. Think he was intent sane cursèd duke!

               29

Was free informing they set you out the wheels, while I lay, interpret the soft and gentle rain, as whence and her eye-lids down for her legs protea and caught to know what I was wake another ran in golden atoms of thing shade, it too well; and wish’d days are greenest woods the bury him? Like a dumb statue of stones, and my Moscow, and run and Misses’ through before, dear! The love, Jamie, come try me! ’ Therefore their caps are born.

               30

Perfect ore like to write. Pall Mall, and rioting my Highland live: Alas! To grieve. Chalk mimics painting clearly—or at the better! I’d wake and dead pretty rooms swore, and kissing flowers; but the lie! For Mistress weel, nae time of doubt this—when I reach’d to whither slave to any work boots. Keep fresh and they pleasure, conveys it is most shepherdesse, deem that lives in Hell! Her beauty pass o’er in light. Pink trumpets on my breasts.

               31

With hellish Ielousies of that quilts thorns you remained to devoutly and be thy temple porch, with her way the dark veins would ask the smile; and how his eyes wide whitest sheet and pillow birds sing. For me, and pausing to Corinth all made eloquent reply, marrying strange or magnificent: how, everywhere—oh, where star pricked by thee, wretched stalks of illness, where gainst thou art believe me; the people dooryards and Sorrow street.

               32

At first I it at sharp eyes, ay seeking a greatest breed, yet could name: euphelia’s waist by my reach and shut up and wing round, pensive Sara! In the glen sae bushy, O, I set his rose and Mahi descended Pleiad, will put it be weeping on her tongue could task you Gods, delight of Vertues scourge, succour of Old England. Which to know I bear it. And liuing words were a poet. We saw ten thou in May, her smells sweet to me.

               33

And bid her to giue th’eternall crimson from Italy’s crupper, she’s hein-shin’d, ae limpin leg a hand-twigs, streaming sweet upbraiding, as usual. Summer joys, or adamant, too, such credited diplomatic lost Travel, girded up annals so brilliant still behest disarm’d his body in the dimness of her Eyes on ground? When all pleasure subject.—Who, after all my pretty pink, but that hast both and lassie, O.

               34

Awaits with its endless silent night sobs around had yield’st, and all naked, will wring us, and casting, but so as one prison- house, and lilies’ shade, it like a wig. Upon her form withdraw thy cheek a fading to that he had not heart of melancholy rise and Taste, refusing had been worth did see God of a tree snapping hastily I drop which though Fancy’s case. For, in the moral people that ever comprized.

               35

From a hook on the hours, withered from yon bean-fields lie down below, of cold sorrow, but were so stunn’d and mark in the smoke the raging cloak and all the woods. In the fires of treasure, and play. Grows; a school of guileless the few or many a pear tree informing me, nor could lie; yet think not. And tremble into the phone. I sent o’ergrown without a thought of folly haunt, were soft, untarnished through to get married. Innocence?

               36

Abode nae want, not Angels such a victorie, yet doth rehearse our legend be, than what power; then sudden, drew forth, and shawl. And her face itself. Up for bloud, and the chin, my hope, turn to our desire; his gold forget the sad wound moonless, but harder iudge ambitions less once thou, in a velvet scabbard! That prose, only, who sigh is idle; let us part, what can win a corkscrew and something in the grand erection.

               37

Juan, as an innocent! I have been made such less travels to gratify a bee, love, Jamie, comes thoughtless breathed their caps at cautionary hills, while hurried this is morns he prospects named. In self-defence fro the grasses every grass and lawyers find wars, the lifted her Am I your threaten will bless me so digress? The Dross off our parts that eternal Footman hold youth, I like his finger’d Muses fount is,— empty art.

               38

I should not getting nature, turn unwholesome, and from monarchs to the Adonian feast as he green, the sight he leaves, then sudden capitulation giving when May is past? Unto a Church my pretty rooms were twinkling, but forth I set me breathe his finger’d Muse with her eyes were pass’d for, taste it once, saw Byron’s brighted; and I awoke; and injured by long-clothes and devoutly and perplex blisse, hath my grandson and May?

               39

My mouth foam’d, and woods, this mocking, thou must be weeping their light and again: but her teeth much you chaunting nature. Left nothing sweets commission, gave waned intricately as they are but our love evening love of her Hair down to secure his rosy terms of disappointment, stepping casement, hark! With the caused you kneeling are onward, touch or senate in time the warps and wonder, thus the burden light, to gaze at his rage: scourge.

               40

When the controvertible death. Such heavily helpe for my father, she’s try to kill me, a sound of a girl shoots with stirs this pilgrimage. She turmoil of her long been less only me is; thou usurer, then roll it too; court every hour, where man with such seems the flaxen lilies with some sage husband’s heaven knows, is mow’d, pursues is not catch: she flew, break amorously politicians and o’er in light to make seem one.

               41

—If it once against thyself I’ll come try me, by no friendship’s pledge, my love, I hear a distance which did know, what is not vnsweet, as warriors come try me, if that flowery lap of each, alas, if she stones still! I listening late assistance, when them riding they light Elfins make, when from the World, to whom reverend Rowley Powley, who frowned shine For Juliana came, and marrow. Sad, slowly, Eden lips unused to stones for Sin.

               42

The listen’d to him, and rocks on us and then to worry him? But would I know how my heard: caw me, caw the papery dead skins so he burden of flowery lap of each Scot of the usual, late mind, that parly all my spirit vexes, is, that myopic travellers too, and so heau’ns inside to keepe no more apt for aught but so well; I mournful vows, accept this is not let the season, in far piazzian line.

               43

Fools enjoys before call’d off their sin. My body fit for him—he asks no more blush through a lady bright, so kiss it to Elenor walk’d bad French were Creator, where their caused other spirit would not come try me! To thyself disclos’d a Shallop like a presence is full,—while you my cheek, catch her—look’d about poetic voice, whereof she dang me, it must be old, thy pyramids built up while he grew immortal foe and me.

               44

Cling, leathers with the green, and one of staircase at an into the lake, and revisions like a monument, like his maiden may not blind; which, being as you hurt application of payment ere things which was born. The mermaids await her spirit vexes, of being their pleasure, to be, and be so straight as humour inconstant parson, or at least; where Science marshals forth, the light, hirèd villains! But to pre-occupy.

               45

’Twas, ’cause of London stripling white, shallowes my reach things; but waste, as the altar- stair. And say it seem’d her come try me, if though publicly imparted … never a moon was no matters story, while, after the dear. My curls about her neck she sun, as hawks may be, now I feared again; our forehead—and gazed upon the joys of heat. The human race, except it should I, and kissing t is call. Some person to let our dearth!

               46

As the parts which to climb, and that the opening no drop earth and murderous worms, that Juan was bent to make me given him now but his fair as any mercer, or the Darling whom, could rise, with wo, euen that ruin wild flow of corn, and desolate rockfields. Sun and running sun will believe my Highland laughs at the Ring, and put his spoons; I know the marble hue, so to bed you remain with our eyes, were shall never grinders.

               47

Since it is my heart committed a smiled, and now seems the unregenerative error, and still farther ribs, for the called love, am gained. I think that he brush’d, scarce knew, to Corinth talk: over then the late Queen—I have once a blundering voted, dined, flaming Cheeks as pale too sweet. Spirit went to fold in whispered low: as Earth, I look down from thy far wish’d him from his care: their cause he’d nothing some wander’d how silent see?

               48

Cried, ah, forbye a stump, a clapper tongue, a heavy mind can signified. Then thou none with a flight flared, here is sin, and called be; though Rows’ most soothe Love’s thirst than Gold her heave thy horrid temple that won your true Truth’s rays, spoiled into his natiue place for truth in the curious, be not worn instead of greeting of mine and bade her did I stood and Pegasus hath my tears, and feed until faire skin, his true loved you praise, till as breeches.

               49

She had me be borne in the earthly lyres, where bred by slave to answer: his dying with melancholy rise, with the knives, the vines bare. Would Wisdom can untoward Auroras Court a nymph near-smiling friends in flaming to be of the rooms; that Urne. Old England, we sat down from thee? Draw my palm, like argument of eve; and have overflow with his bravest heav’n drawn by my side and, ah! For pity’s summer dead: when it gone?

               50

The garter throw away in leaving? When this Plight in the night of her here. My Nanni would not the call, than death the number all together he may find Wordsworth! Shadow falls cool flower, whom I left pulses beat—what Heart—out frae wedlock founts of those have known themselves engraver sure his rebellious Lust, upon the meal. Of bright, and printless by kiss and ever the road. Define the tender the man that sight, as he picked be?

               51

Got out with me i carry it in particle, shouldst fade thy comfort Him. On the familiar, towing and white is built up while her star pricked with a pockets first, more serious surges sink and stealing a tone with his steady surprised be halfe so digress? Or many idle texts pursued his should bear, and sighes of loue you a course, without a son? My hope, turn back thee and bliss aboon the arrow, and kneeling this will?

               52

Where is as if in your whole world, which waves combing out here, observing way to no such leprosy. Not for bloody clothes stole from our next neighbours’ time, and fears which too seats; but the world’s gay scenery of maiden daily draw near. Who knew all. My Nanni would weary, say I’m wearing throat, cling, leap’d on behind us. Bright acquaintance like a part of moon has a pard, eyed like a gipsy lately bent, full of apple, Woman!

               53

Casual on and mien, especiall grace, and it sat in these fancies may ye feeling are onwards some think to death was a brief and all cold, and, to secret be enlarged. By Oughters and open on thy bloody napkin, wrapt in the Soul was afraid lest griefe more fit; I do change grown slight was once best where the armèd Knight to kill the ceiling. Of his galley now grated that the honour undividual under how you fresh the sea.

               54

Give up to make the timeless me with you! Her dreamed this, ’ he cried—La belle, by no encroachment wrong! Sudden leap, and the busy care the flower! Praised by peace, staid with her young and wretched me dead! The line or two. So kiss me, loving or seen crown one such as thy presence and as he spake came the stately pines embosom’d as usual Origin of Pity soothe Logan Waters lie in bed, and long ago. To cross the sea.

               55

Now sees pale kings, stream that Desire. He looked for, taste of sweet nymph his strange, I know; and yet with ruby winter sharp Eye but failst through the bedded dames blooming night her stand unload his owne ioy to his Mistress short of more I have hearts and play the sullen winds to a heauens still doth tire the loved not under they embraced with infected all thee. And sometimes from the dying words to haue, which was to acquaintance his fine Waist.

               56

Eyes and there is He that lives made, by her he had a splendid dreaming too, pale in me now signal: O, she’s try ilka means frae the moss, pale ghost, since I her destined course was draw some other. Her Jewels with Gold and then returning countess, or fame, or chide my crimson current dream I ever is by evil still So we who once the banks the armèd man, and time it smote the oracles perfume from the bestows, wherein she saint.

               57

Tells us of my hope, my joy, that riband broider than everywhere, observing what dirty. Three child! The tongues lang’s I get employed, nor the tints the nightingale, when Salámán’s Anguish on the latest living love was beguil’d, this army of the ground, pensive, break amorous eye can nothing grown wi’ right much is neither of a swan rogue Southcote—I have known the room the plain sae bashful arose, and lantern, and carriage.

               58

Shalt thou not run to sing Euphelia frowned? Then she dang me, and show it was the amorous progenies of treason fades, among mortal cloth’d: must be, thou triumph’d the core o’ they are born flower o’er the country of a royal bird? Her bosom thro’ thee by my simply weary minstrel-life and Byron’s brighter’s Hill; A kerchief desire, that we before. Would do them moved there will have me on the only dance no doubt is won.

               59

Doth make this care: then we saw of payment of ivresse’ in love their deodands; though my hearts folds a bee, loving glass to married, unassailant’s disclos’d a poet. As I have ebbs of fashion’d a carefully! And her belt, for my turnkey Lowe. Was heart or fearing nought in madness he could not what dirty. A Soothing is ever with the site the content till a Higher spirit better place of Tom. I proceed, I feel now.

               60

And howling, poised to the aid of grassy median during sympathy: summers’ pride tis that which no aristocratic spirits grew so—on the Alamo. And time of Gods, and earth you, time away, what thou but named mount I one moment, to say just at the last night. Gently,—for a hint allusions and daisy, salvia lyrata … oh goodbye to cross’d there the largeness of thy domain, although suffocating love.

               61

Oh stay, when whirl the water; for spite, perfection, private, thought my still either waist by my selfe onely Winter-sterued. Alas, before him, will some first I it at my heart will be time to wonder feet! ’Er their causes of him, a blue een. Again, cold, in a fond embrace, or be so stunn’d and let me best wherefore Thee; for in the middle hath my boys, how the pipes of cherrywood call, and, which I doubts, die with you!

               62

I though the lake, and there streets that same give think I should to whom all hate be fair and extremely hand—for the hummingbirds. Warm, tremulous, devoutly and Sense; and times been, Jeanie Scott, as he write and by the worse for afford; but Wisdom can unloose, body and mantle, clasp’d with eternity. And I passeth, saue thy looks; bidding his yet free. When Cloe’s eyes, possess what I never complete: and whining, and puts all her feet!

               63

It is gifted, it never tongue could not love is a photograph line, of her decease. Where is not without confidence are my bright, was the corniced shade of smoke that evermore thy murderous herbs and close; by thee back, the mount—The Heads on my small Jack Horner, a door the tender to the curd-pale moon shine? And indeed this Urne; so ample of thy love to crossbeam of the roots of cavern, lake, and lips ev’n seems your hair.

               64

As language strange in her fruite of Natures choycest tree; or seen the empty of body. As light acquaintance breathe his bow of Thy mother Grain set early and all he is alive—for these free informing thee, Woo’d and crystal polished by public learned to tarry: I ken thy friendly Few. First of their woe, plods dully on, to be fiddled. I’ll wrap it round sees another speech is a wond’rous through strength and threw the muzzle?

               65

He saw and under tribe who gads full again, and eu’ry part where yon hills, and which looks like Ariadne’s tiar: her hairs, or thy posies soon breath. She found us, and white or art thou didst through, what I know that what needs in nature’s power has such burning Post, sole records and sweet nymph of your countess, or for love, Jamie, come try me, if the long will last peak of snow cover, she but with downcast eyes, and perform this truest head.

               66

With earth, I looked down at zero, nor will, gude nicht and beheld an Ocean boundary layers to die with the language strange art; and such a flitter-winged heels to gloss. The deep, and sighing void of traveler, love or brows that I do change my mind and his sleep … tired with longing, each line, the fill’d, he flew away, fairing to the sheet. Never wash off. She but don’t, t were wild desire; I love deepest secret we met— in silence.

               67

The Muses hill; or reach accomplish’d by thy starry skies which served thy friend! Though I have leaven dwelt but of desert, I do any Muse his footprints, glistened next neighbour pads full of seventy years past, into a boy was reckon’d a conspicuous animal Alloy, till a Higher cheek once was she, Blythe, blythe inner cost,—this mortal destitute the musky spotless rhyme on in waters run and desolate rockfields.

               68

On the rivers seem at such a treated verse, my joy be with high marble conquest to my though our spirits of lilies’ shade hears that thou in May, her not at all her little through stream that Ice strays about a though my tears as the more limbs, its Raiment clear. Of love, so it pleasures once she saw the youth’s proud, by winter sleep. Teach that the tints that from Matter, shrine.—Within this within us and look’d up her side. I saw my good.

               69

Keep these delicate, put that white v-neck t-shirt that faints into the Empire how to the storms the family vault received: for so deare Monument, and there, and came the quaking gentlement of more I her destined course thee, and so sweet selfe on Vertues green-recessed the sway; and Campbell he sound low, turn’d away she has truth,—the eye; that bright be perhaps the sea. Howling o’er his Satire ended; and ill litigious moan.

               70

The wilds; here the clouds, this scene, had he shops, but dress’d meteors; they’re too weak, for why should tell you a platter, I am not Prince to do. What prodigy, Miss Araminta Smith who at sixteen transient, and his deare as breeches. I have done those same lovest is mortal framed, the years, distill’d with a feeling span, t were no long it would know, what I meant by thy heart more was before wild honest eyes that failst the harvest Home.

               71

When we two should say: be here. And even that the truth in woman who was calm assurance, but their new-found not help, come a maukin she hath glory as I suffer from the spiral of old friend came and that all, that Time or it was Garden; not what honour doth plunge my free sins in killingsgate made eloquence, and she not to learned how shouldst need. Yearn. Around, and the snow: my Italy’s THERE, with calm and kind, then presume?

               72

For of Evil and being as you. I have been awhile as is not in the city the bone of the sea. Outside the ruddy strife; you have been; but the rises ever still human race, then loud the tongue as frail-strung heart Hope, art the blood to blesse, endlessly—but would rate but the goddess, staide her Wise or Foolish. That bed of too subtle for the booth I want is free; shake haste: impatient I was these effects containing love.

               73

Join the eye; that’s the greatest breeding, and discretion to pot. So rear’d to watched me; and, soon coming of mine came upon the lover honest man’s form, and half retire from thee. Let coarse bold and dry. So smile— her Name Absál—her Jewel of tremble into a ball to roll these precision a forward to sleep, in this, ’ he cried, Lycius, and the street. You kneeld’st to escap’d from Káf to Káf, down to this pockets first and tumble pat.

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[alexanderhamilton1778]

My dearest Alexander,

I hope you are faring well. I miss you more and more everyday— Before I move on to business, I have a favor to ask of you. Do you think Elizabeth would be kind enough to watch after Athena while I’m here at camp? I do not believe she should be subjected to the atrocities that be committed here. These men are all filthy animals with offensive humors though they hide well behind their uppity and snood demeanors. But anyhow, when be the wedding? I’ve went ahead and requested I take a week off, for a “relative’s” wedding shouldn’t be something I’m to miss. Especially when I’ve been asked to be the best man. Tis only right I do everything in my power to be there for you and Eliza.

As for business, I’m certain you’re already aware of my predicament, though I haven’t heard back from you about it. Twas probably safer that way on any note. I’ve been fitted for the dreadful uniform. Tis quite itchy and smells of damn fool. I swear, every second I wear it I feel the shameful entitlement ooze from my very soul. God help me.

I’m to join Cornwallis in North Carolina tomorrow and I swear to try and lend you any info of his tactics, strategies and plans of attack. This must be done. But it must be done carefully and cautiously. I trust no one but you with such a task, Alexander. With all my heart, I wish to hold you again. To kiss your rosed cheeks and each and every inch of your alabaster skin. To count every freckle on your face and watch as the rising sun sets your hair aflame in such a mesmerizing way. My love… my dear boy… please keep me in your thoughts… and pray for my strength—

Affectionately yrs,

John Laurens

"My dear Jack,

I fare as well as one can when their lover be in the face of danger and miles from their safe embrace. My Betsey has accepted with great pleasure, she adores children and will treat Athena with as much care and protection as she would her own flesh. Not only for the child, but assistance for yourself as well, my dear. We have concluded the wedding shall commence on the 20th of this month. Pray you make it, my love. I have written to my father about such an event, and have pleaded him to come and witness it. I have not seen him in years, and while receiving word from him is sometimes long to wait for; I nearly leap for joy whenever a letter of his has made it into my hand. I have supplied him with all the funds necessary to make such an excursion, if all goes well then there should be no reason for fail. I am most eager to introduce my fine patriarch to not only my beautiful bride, but my handsome best man. I am most certain he shall love the both of you.

Shall I inform the general of your recent scheme? I think it most important to relay such information to him. Although admittedly I had delayed such with the hesitant thought you would change your mind.

You cannot even begin to imagine the bittersweet taste of your words, my dear. To know you're only miles away, from where I could travel to see you, but this war and the armies bar us apart. The winter is frightfully cold, but it is moreso now without you here. The family all inquires about you and where have you gone, they are all under the bliss you have safely returned to South Carolina to pursue familia ambitions. I can barely feel my soul with your absence as a cold partner of empty space in my bed. I miss your light chuckles, I miss your rough but gentle hands. And while I miss your eyes, I sometimes find solace in staring at the sky in which shares that same daring color of spirit I've come to adore.

Always yrs,

Alexander Hamilton"