Shall show you lodging in the whipstock jail.'
4140This language sounded in Bellama's ears
Like the sad voice of death, yet fear no slaughter.
To joy straight changed shall be this scene of tears,
And stead of grief the child of pleasure, laughter.
My promise stands unshaked: for this short anger
Brings not their loves nor safeties unto danger.
'Sir,' quoth Albino, 'there was once a time
When you esteemed those wingèd minutes sainted
You spent with me (when Fortune was in prime),