 Methinks, your words Fall not from off your tongue so evenly, Nor is there in your looks that quietness, That I was wont to see. Phi. Thou art decfi\ed, boy : And she strokes thy head ? Bel.  Bell's British Theatre - Page 48edited by - 1797Full view - About this book
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...art deceiv'cl boy : And she stroakes thy head ? Bell. Yes. Phi. And she does clap thy cheeks ? Bell. She does my Lord. Phi. And she does kiss thee boy ? ha ! Bell. How my Lord ? Phi. She kisses thee ? Bell. Not so my Lord. Phi. Come, come, I know she does.... | |
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