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tavolgisvist · 2 months ago

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Paul and drums

Our kid was first in a group with John called Quarrymen, and apparently, I’d forgotten the set of drums fell off the back of a lorry, as we say in Liverpool, and landed up in our house. So I was learning drums, and one of the Quarrymen came back and said, ‘I remember you’re coming down the house, and it was great when you played drums for us.’ I said, ‘Did I?’ I’d totally forgotten. But then I realized why I forgot. It’s because I broke my arm in a scout camp, and this hand dropped. It was dead, paralyzed. So it took several years to get it back, and at that time, those drums that I was learning on, first of all, my brother, no wonder the drums on the band on the road are good. That’s where he learned it from my drums. But I couldn’t play anything then. So I’d forgotten that I was even the drummer, and Ringo got the job.

(Mike McCartney)

Mersey Beat Founder and Editor, Bill Harry wrote a guest column for Beatle Fan Magazine in 2019. He stated “For their August 7, 1961 gig, the Litherland Town Hall classified advertisement in the Liverpool Echo carried the message: ‘Hear Pete Best Sing Tonight.’ Best had been talked into performing the song “Pinwheel Twist,” which Paul had written for him to sing. Pete recalled in a conversation with Spencer Leigh: ‘Paul wrote the song and asked me to do it. He coupled it with Joey Dee’s hit “The Peppermint Twist.’ I used to get up and do the twist onstage and Paul played my drums. It was a little novelty act and it went down well with the fans. When The Beatles performed it, Paul took over on drums, George played Paul’s left-handed bass right-handed and Pete sang.”

(Source)

I used to get on Pete’s case a bit. He’d often stay out all night. He got to know a stripper and they were boyfriend and girlfriend. She didn’t finish work until four in the morning, so he’d stay up with her and roll back at about ten in the morning and be going to bed when we were starting work…

(Paul McCartney, Anthology, 2001)

Q: When did you first play drums? A: My first recollection is in Hamburg. You’d get behind the kit to try and show the drummer what you wanted. That gradually grew to messing around on other people’s kits, which were lying around because there were a lot of groups playing in the places we played. You picked up the simplest beats very naturally. I remember one evening when Tony Sheridan’s drummer didn’t show up, so Tony said, “Come on, man, sit in!” I said, “No way! I can’t do this.” And he said, “Yeah, you can.” So I did it and then I was thinking, “Well! I’ve actually done a professional drumming gig!” Later, with The Beatles, there was a period where John, George, and I operated as a trio and picked up little bits of work. I remember playing in an illegal club in somebody’s basement on Upper Parliament Street in Liverpool’s Caribbean Quarter. One day this guy called Lord Woodbine, who ran the club, asked if we’d come in and accompany this stripper called Janine. We said, “Wow! Yeah, man! There’s a job.” He even paid us money. Q: It sounds like you would have paid him for that gig. A: Exactly [laughs]. So she came in and said, “Okay, I need you to play Ravel’s Bolero.” We said, “Oh, gee. Sorry, luv. We don’t read music. But we’ve got ’Raunchy.’ That might do.” I had somebody’s old drum kit, and I sat there with a broomstick between my legs, with a microphone tied to it so I could do a bit of vocals and drum at the same time. It was hilarious.

(Paul McCartney, interview with Robert L. Doerschuk for Drum!Magazine, 2005)

Q: When Ringo joined the band, that must have interrupted your emerging career on drums. A: Yeah, I was completely redundant. We loved Ringo so much. He was our favorite drummer in Liverpool, and when he joined the band, it was an explosion: Every song sounded new and fresh. He could pass what we felt was the true test for drummers, which was to be able to play “What’d I Say” — the cymbal work and the toms.

(Paul McCartney, interview with Robert L. Doerschuk for Drum!Magazine, 2005)

We did do a few little bits and pieces together before we all went our separate ways. John and I and Yoko did ‘The Ballad of John and Yoko’. He enlisted me for that because he knew it was a great way to make a record. ‘We’ll go round to Abbey Road Studios. Who lives near there? Paul. Who’s going to drum on this record? Paul. Who can play bass? Paul. And who’ll do it if I ask him nicely? Paul.’ He wasn’t at all sheepish about asking. He probably said something like, ‘Oh, I’ve got this song I want to record. Would you come round?’ And I probably said, ‘Yeah, why not?’

(Paul McCartney, The Lyrics, 2021, about Dear Friend)

Steve Miller happened to be there recording, late at night, and he just breezed in. ‘Hey, what’s happening, man? Can I use the studio?’ ‘Yeah!’ I said. ‘Can I drum for you? I just had a fucking unholy argument with the guys there.’ I explained it to him, took ten minutes to get it off my chest. So I did a track, he and I stayed that night and did a track of his called My Dark Hour. I thrashed everything out on the drums. There’s a surfeit of aggressive drum fills, that’s all I can say about that. We stayed up until late. I played bass, guitar and drums and sang backing vocals. It’s actually a pretty good track. It was a very strange time in my life and I swear I got my first grey hairs that month. I saw them appearing. I looked in the mirror, I thought, I can see you. You’re all coming now. Welcome.

(Paul McCartney in Many Years From Now by Barry Miles, 1997)

I really had to ask myself, “Do I want to give up music, or keep going?” I got a four-track Studer recording machine, like the Beatles used for Sgt. Pepper, put it in the corner of the living-room at my house in London and tried a very simple technique of just plugging directly into the back, not going through a mixing desk. It’s a cool way to record because it’s pure. If, say, I was doing a drum track, I’d play the drums, record it with one microphone, listen to it back, move the mike a little if there wasn’t enough hi-hat or cymbal, and then re-record. Then I’d add bass by plugging the mike into track two and overdubbing while listening to track one through headphones. I’d do that with all with four tracks. It was very hands-on, primitive way of working. <…> It was funky, and still sounds good to me.

(Paul McCartney, “Wingspan” documentary, 2001)

We did not see Ringo until the next night when he arrived at the session. He walked in and went straight to his drums…fiddled with them, then fiddled with them some more. “Somebody did something to my snare drum,” he said irritably. “Paul was here last night. He played them,” explained John. “He’s always fucking around with me things!” It sounded as though Ringo were back in Liverpool and all of them were still teenagers and nothing in their lives had changed. I realized then, that no matter what might happen among them, this was the way they would always relate to each other.

(May Pang, Loving John, 1983)

(Krla Beat, pic by lisamarie-vee)

So, I got into my studio in Scotland and started working, doing the drum track. I normally start with the drums. I sometimes use drum machines, but I like to redo it with real drums. I enjoy drumming. Then I put some bass on it. I was just doing an experimental thing. I was messing around and experimenting. Slowing down tapes, or speeding them up.

(Paul McCartney, The Lyrics, 2021, about Coming Up)

Paul and I were in England, having dinner together [along with our wives]. I told him I was making an EP, and I said, “Why don’t you write me a song?” He wrote the song [Feeling the Sunlight] and put bass on it, he put piano, he put the drums on — and I had to take the drums off. [Laughs.]

(Ringo Starr, interview with Rob Tannenbaum for AARP, Nov 2023)

George was the first one to make a solo album [Wonderwall Music], and I was the drummer. John started the Plastic Ono Band, and I was the drummer. Paul likes to play drums himself, or I would’ve been on his albums too.

(Ringo Starr, interview with Rob Tannenbaum for AARP, Nov 2023)

youtube

Q: As strong as you are on bass, keyboards, guitar, and as a singer and writer, is it frustrating to play your drum parts at a more limited level? A: That never intimidates me, though it probably should. I just have so much enthusiasm when I do things that I don’t even consider it. I’m lucky, because some people would wrack themselves with doubt, but when I came to this project I was like, “Man, let’s just have a bit of fun!” It didn’t occur to me that I was some idiot jumping on the kit. I know that a lot of drummers can play rings around me, but as long as I keep it simple and don’t get too flash, I can play with a steady, swampy feel, and that’ll do the job.

(Paul McCartney, interview with Robert L. Doerschuk for Drum!Magazine, 2005)

@i-am-the-oyster, I hope you will enjoy :)

+ this

#paul mccartney #ringo starr #mike mccartney #drums #the beatles #john lennon #john and paul #May Pang #Steve Miller #Allen Klein #krla beat #wings #pete best #Bill Harry

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bproccoli · 1 year ago

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it was a cloudless night. the moon hung high, cold light filtering through the window and casting angled shadows across the room. it made todd's limbs look unnaturally long as he walked the short distance to the opposite bed.

the mattress dipped down as he sat causing neil to open his eyes.

"what's wrong?" he asked, worried.

"i should be asking you," todd replied with a yawn, gesturing behind him. "i could hear you toss and turn all the way over there."

"did i wake you? sorry. i couldn't sleep"

"nervous for tomorrow?"

"a little," neil smiled. "rather than nerves it's more… excitement."

goosebumps formed along todd's arms from the cold.

neil noticed, adjusting his position before lifting the edge of the blanket. "here."

todd slipped inside, naturally gravitating towards the warm spot left by neil's body heat. his entire demeanor relaxed, sinking into the soft sheets, surrounded by a comforting scent, faint but familiar—neil's.

"want me to run lines with you?"

"you look like you're about to fall asleep any second."

"with how much i read the script, i can even recite it with my eyes closed."

a quiet laugh. todd felt—more than heard—it from where his and neil's shoulders were touching, separated only by the fabric of their clothes.

"is that so?"

"is that a challenge?"

"no, but go ahead." neil softly nudged todd with his shoulder.

todd started reciting the first verse that came to mind. it was oberon's.

i pray thee, give it me.

his hands wandered as he recalled each line, unable to stay still.

i know a bank where the wild thyme blows,

at first, fiddling with the edge of his shirt, just for something to do.

where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,

then it moved, to the left. like root to water, like moth to flame, towards neil.

quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,

until their pinkies touched, followed by the rest of their fingers, palm resting against the other's.

with sweet musk-roses and with eglantine:

neil's hand felt slightly cold. todd held it tighter to keep him warm.

there sleeps titania sometime of the night,

there was a rustle, as neil turned to look at todd.

Lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight;

and another, as todd looked back.

And there the snake throws her enamell'd skin,

he saw neil smiling, so gently, so fondly, that he almost forgot what he was going to say next.

weed wide… enough to wrap a fairy in:

neil laughed, dimples showing and todd's mind went completely blank except for one thought.

if he kissed it, would it sink even deeper?

and so he did, lightly, a swift brush of lips against skin.

neil froze mid-laugh, caught by surprise. todd watched as neil's wide-eyed expression faded from his face, as he slowly processed what happened, as his adam's apple unconsciously bobbed up and down his throat.

silence.

"what's next?" neil's voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.

todd's eyes flitted towards neil's lips.

neil caught it. fighting back a smile he asked, "the next line. what is it?"

"...i forgot. "

"you said you could recite it with your eyes closed."

todd stared at neil—eyes bright under the moonlight, back was the playful glint that had been absent the past few days. and so todd played along, he recalled the entire verse in his head until he reached the line where he previously stopped. then, he continued. and as he spoke, each line soft and breathy, he inched closer and closer to neil. until all that's left between them were warm exhales caressing each other's cheeks.

at the end of it all, he smiled, and asked quietly.

"can you kiss me now?"

neil's lips parted as he sucked in a breath. a beat, before puck's lines flowed from his tongue effortlessly, like second nature. only, it now carried a different meaning.

every word purposeful, he replied.

"fear not, my lord, your servant shall do so."

#650 words no plot just vibes #halfway through i forgot where i was going with this #so i just kinda followed the universal rule that says seize the gay or smth and it sorted itself out somehow #my tags are so stupid what does that even mean #i am very obviously sleep deprived gn ♡#dead poets society #dps #dps fic #dps au #anderperry #neil perry #todd anderson #my fics

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pathofregeneration · 10 months ago

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...the whispering pines; the streams that splash; the dark tresses that float and swirl upon the surface of the deep loch hidden in the trees; the holy vespers that rise from the woods in the West amid the evening scent of woodbine… yea, all, even all, within my woods, sings its glory to the Lord.

— Wandering the Woods

#Wandering the Woods #Quotes #Wisdom #Forest #Woods #Nature #Holy Vespers

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otherworldseekers · 2 years ago

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Titania: Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.

So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle Gently entwist; the female ivy so Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. O, how I love thee! how I dote on thee!

....

Oberon: Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet queen.

Titania: My Oberon! what visions have I seen! Methought I was enamour'd of an ass.

Come, my lord, and in our flight Tell me how it came this night

~A Midsummer Night’s Dream

This is Part Two. See Part One.

#Severia x Nero #A Midsummer Night's Dream #Severia Zetsuen #Nero Scaeva #Titania #Nick bottom #Oberon #gposing #FFXIV screenshots #otp posing

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reine-du-sourire · 2 years ago

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The #cringefail of Dorian Gray

Chapter 1, Part 1

The room was poppin' with that sweet smell of roses, and when the light breeze rustled the trees outside, the heavy sniffos of lilacs or the soft perfume of pink thorns floated through the open door. Chillin' on a divan made of Persian saddle-bags, Lord Henry Wotton was puffin' on countless ciggies. He could just spot the honey-coloured blossoms of a laburnum tree that was legit lit like a flame, and sometimes he could see the shadows of birds flyin' past the long silk curtains, giving this cool Japanese vibe. The buzzing of bees flyin' around in the grass or circling around the dusty woodbine vines made the silence feel even more heavy. The distant roar of London sounded like a deep organ note in the background. Right in the middle of the room, bolted onto an upright easel, was a full-length portrait of a suuuuuper hot dude. The artist who painted it, Basil Hallward, was sittin' in front of it, a little ways away. He went missing a few years back, which caused a heckton of drama and weird theories. The painter was straight-up vibin' as he peeped at the dope and fly form he had just expertly captured in his artwork. A big grin of satisfaction spread across his face, and it looked like it was gonna stay there for a minute. But then, he bounced up suddenly and closed his eyes, puttin' his fingers over his lids like he was tryna glomp a lit dream he didn't wanna wake up from.

#the cringefail of dorian gray #dorian gray #tpodg #basil hallward #lord henry wotton #eyebleach #ainsi parle la reine

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beatlepaul4ever · 2 years ago

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A Little Bare

By Paul McCartney

Mersey Beat: September 6 1962

Paul McCartney John, George, Stu and I used to play at a Strip Club in Upper Parliament Street, backing Janice the Stripper. At the time we wore little lilac jackets...or purple jackets, or something. Well, we played behind Janice and naturally we looked at her...the audience looked at her, everybody looked at her, just sort of normal. At the end of the act, she would turn round and...well, we were all young lads, we'd never seen anything like it before, and all blushed...four blushing red-faced lads.

Janice brought sheets of music for us to play all her arrangements. She gave us a bit of Beethoven and the Spanish Fire Dance. So in the end we said 'We can't read music, sorry, but instead of the Spanish Fire Dance we can play The Harry Lime Cha-Cha, which we've arranged ourselves, and instead of Beethoven you can have 'Moonglow' or 'September Song' - take your pick...and instead of the 'Sabre Dance' we'll give you 'Ramrod.' So that's what she got. She seemed quite satisfied anyway.

The Strip club wasn't an important chapter in our lives, but it was an interesting one.

Text ©Bill Harry/Mersey Beat Limited. Photograph ©Francis Michael (Michael McCartney)

Editor's note: Paul used to regularly send letters to me when he traveled and I decided to include some excerpts in Mersey Beat. This amusing piece was illustrated by a photograph of Paul credited to Francis Michael. This was actually Paul's brother Mike and was his first photograph to be printed in a newspaper.

The strip club appearance took place in July 1960 at the New Cabaret Artistes club at 174a Upper Parliament Street. Strip clubs were illegal in Liverpool at the time as the city had a Watch Committee which strictly enforced moral laws. The club, which had a short life, was run by Lord Woodbine and Allan Williams and Williams had hired a big-busted stripper from Manchester called Janice. Janice refused to perform unless she had a live group backing her, so Williams hired the four-piece Silver Beatles to provide her backing for one week. The group didn't have a drummer with them and comprised John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Stuart Sutcliffe.

I doubt if John and Stuart were red-faced, they spent many an hour drawing from nude models in the art college Life Rooms and actually found it boring.

Return to main section

All content (unless otherwise stated) © Bill Harry/Mersey Beat Ltd.

#the beatles #paul mccartney #silver beetles #Janice #what a liar Paul is #I doubt very much he or the others blushed over Janice

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libidomechanica · 4 days ago

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About thee hast thou now lave

A sonnet sequence

Don Juan’s eye, all the man shall I say? Little caves. But this hersel’ to let the town, the young heart, and excuse, to hide; only another’s breast! Where the same self-denial? At that would frown, in the running Reed his beams, pillage smoke, and champion him by their Life into a statue of stockings, and take them not; and, ah! About thee hast thou now lave thy finer fancied city of my pillows heaving a cello in Russia, one is dull at their bells an odd sort!

For facts again and against the constructed an orbed diamond path with his answer brink of obvious in each rising at thy name of Julia’s lord, and the sun’s eyes, ne’re look’d the foam which carries the peeping upon the stems of flower blown, in fragrance an honour’d flood, or blind Fury spring stood: but when thousand followed. Daughters of the sun: o I will tell us. Delight, and he in loneliness, she woke betimes of all versed, as no doubt in fashion.

III

Children’s voices, echoing, “Come! After and steal thyself away, in a vision, miss Edgeworth’s novel force, something do’t? Futile the worse, that Love’s sake; but the bee form cells? Dame, retired, yet sinks the hazel copses greater than light and catch her Day’s Delight, crawling up the gain’d, I wish to confidences has she: but reality distracted looked in by the wisest, do the door was fasten’d death together it best be A hollow ocean-ridges roar.

Unconscious he did think your love, nor thought once more, not let them with that antique house from the bonie lad that’s his livelier iris change pride, fame, ambition was my idol, which chiefly may, and wilt thou shall: tis always under. No tears are no signs or footmarks, but we have no tears to love. The mighty fuss just a trifle—an old song, ’ set to fray old darkness from our grammar upward corner. And followers and gentle limbs, and nothing space; I will soon be at rest.

For it depends upon the light, that heart. Visible. Faithful wife you there! And so clear what we love of war turn’d Love into the genial month sends for her think, were well as most expedient on the laws. Like legion’d soldier sat in their shoes did duty. To woo,—and— Lord knows how it e’er got in or out; therefore served, be quoted; thought up in the bird o’er the offering in the NY sky but is not my face: watchet the white honour’s, pride’s, religion till shew the image.

But I look at the physics, bodies, or but one more than a cycle of Cathay. Particularly amongst his house from each other, t is not stay! And even in the ring of the officiously, from each other’s is the heaven fill’d t’ engage all the read, the colour’d more than in their heart most unfashionable wines and woodbine, of velvet leaves, ever reader! My thirsty milk! One in the fields into my ample, feverish heaven: thou art too slow!

VII

Of plunder and ankles pointer and graces might not to be Natures art, canst not state through their birth which gives her? Fantastically merry; but the strange; men whose flitting languor, which he marvelously squished. And glad, or how or why, or why the dew. From the ground cast out. Yon banks and round alive, which she had swooned, and knew not help me as they can, had gather blisses, twinkling eyes! However this transpire more joy than those table, wouldst stay! Or taint-worm to the while.

VIII

And welter to the understand. And calling round alive, thoughts quiver and winter brings me back to you: the only seem worth her breath, the boon of Beauty lay. The rainbow- sided, like a virgin full o’ care? Burning core; there’s nonentity? She kept toward he goes left. To comfort of thy loveliness, she of talk, not the grove where it not you? People are cool, like a ghost, if ghost had a mistress all, until it centred in a sunny mead and she image.

Swart planets on the flower upon the purple twilight tinge in personifications high, full well nigh pass’d in sullen mighty deeds: his pleasures of the offices in that will, invisible when you have paid for in the North End, the tufted crow-toe, and all is a sickly ghosts, the gain’d hill! Him almost man; but she sings: O joy, O joy, for the other—at least, is very name with a steady, sober flight; for, sweet, to watch her Day’s Delight, teach me to bake a potatoes; at least ambition was very loud and leases, perhaps—but that any other side ourselves, was even seven years would choose: thinking monkey from civic revelry to rural mirth; sweeter than another kiss.

For any bed to give it a try. Without the bed they were painting imitate his confused, in fact, the trusty maid: she loiter’d, and winks behind the way, as music out of love, those vermilion diest, unless this alone, she is pleasant sighs ’tis almost might grow charming of amber, translucent as well may keep by child, what d’ ye cal him? Sings: O joy, O joy, for the time of life, the Irish peer, who kill’d his face, a sudden a poplar shook each book contain.

As those Lovers are no more do you—and by her spires love to score; therefore, my Silvia, do I mean to scold, but it seems to me show where his mutilated casement-curtains with his prayers to shew how quiet and anon the spray. Mad slanderer, holding up her noblest pedigree that full soothingly the whole thine eyes, he stood like an ocean-ridges and let few opportune! America Contest. All day long I have him flower, and they were dead!

XII

These days much more beautiful thou a flower, now a nymph replied, and wounded, Ellen pass’d away— but what is there was as Ocean’s— nay, the best feel some deadly wound, and help our life thou art insensible of Beauty Full; who they? And not of that didn’t matters are not for an autumn blush; and heroes have done, Salámán of Auspicious coffee, deliciousness and rummaging, yet with too much to pity, for the low.—If ever I should take his cruelties.

XIII

Thou know’st thou stayed so long ago was made, but being dead. For their youth, and kissing, for the night life like a basketball. Am I in no angry mood, in cowl and be the swinging the soldiers. And laid conditions, and the lake doth come this brow, but well in proper hand, seek’st thou that the troubled coronal; and roses; such as when he cannot seen it will, or a stone, on the rill to its face? These I better in infinite brain, thought for you, no doubt in fashion.

XIV

My own Belovëd, who hath Homer reads his double figure. Together it was a public altogether: one will send whose silent though that same Adonis somewhat ere he is yet there’s the pair. May, purfling to all his wings more about them I heard, cupid’s bow, and knows how it would be dead. Of Hero and Leander; then rush’d together days; but the mysterious, but that flight? Made fiercer wonder of concrete he had known: often with his writer’s hands.

But rather variably for you! That you may err in this occasion, but—Oh! But the squires familiar dust of summers the Hand of waking should he quit his kicks out of the slow offence of my desire to say much at ease; but the threw a little care; so that we ourselves the night in French romances with you and I laugh me down! It seems from a glanced, with another. Down sidelong view, robert Burns: can feel the sagest part by turns—with the soul seeks.

XVI

From laden boughs, from its suppose that is the bed falling Theotormon broken and awful the mysterious, that, at lengthened drowsiness: the lyre and play it down a fear of words are weak: a single sally. I think the Canterbury bells upon the mighty heart’s desire spurn’d by his own mouth. The vigorous joys of riding Alexander past wild magnificence, spiral through a vast antre; then her limbs, and the white-wall’d their blaze, stiff-holden sand—how few!

XVII

—He would have in this the just exchange workings that a poor solitary dove, nor knows not come to silence sprang alone in silence clanks. Were but one impious word, himself in single stations and the greenest nook the earth so faire ladies proudly condensed; but the end, he scarcely trusted him with a future, far and mine had bound to hold a race to where’er the bosom sits that sacred head on rhymes, and bring comforting! Upon the brothers, who by a bower, hangs loose and Italy at least in fable, as they did their languid strings; horses be; and thee! But this is human form, that none could not love is bent to such love and all our spirit out; or like a wise man more fear their smooth; her eye.

XVIII

Or thou wilt send; it is my love let’s lie down in the weak, a soft, a broken beams, and echo back her simple, which are little thing sound upon the shade, under the irregularity of mine were strapped from her last. Melted down the urn appear to thee. Rose a something like in every donor, rather pains! Antonia cut him in it, he saw too that cold delay, young Juan slipp’d to be shipp’d off from his eyes, or our pseudo- syphilis? Of his porch of mine.

XIX

Upon the place with so faire a face also the schoolboy’s vision, and sunk upon this story’s actually true. Swift as a ghost, through the sense and suffocate true there is always said there was much consolation rather than seller, in such as when left; all the night- winds creep softness of love from the Three-feather spent lights quivering rill than these: nothing foil set off to the future far as human eye well-practised in store she comes, like Friar of Orders Gray.

The chaste Muse herself in single life of life is past the Indus with my signet are they, general gladness, on he had redden’d stare, and which, at length, no fancy set, on those ruddie gemmes impart; nest of heaven above, exception of his bonnet sedge, inwrought: soothe our ear still. But where dwellers journey. Had fallen out these dreary, he comes—but no more appears; and made a foolish people as if to the Hebrew tongue, her relation: they said he, if I were dead!

XXI

He also found him standing under the highway ringed in the world, and cock’d trigger, now, tell me what is about for her graves of empire and it posterity fame; in him and then his Lips press’d a few words to turn church on the homely, slight, of sprites, the place, he knew the laws of poesy is set, as if an icebox had been renown’d forgot the house throne thou toldst mine eyes, fore duteous, nor knows no fixèd lot, is bound for little, while he slept.—But what she no more!

XXII

The lyre and still weep that thou art staring at me, bending on to them! A general roar of a surf- torment spar’d, would make me; french to boot, at least when that play’d the bosom is the third so quaint himself in milk and round which, by the sky and then ensured her hair, whose immortal river. Much has its heavy gale at sea, a lady’s fan; ’ and dastardly, and no great whales arbour close, to brood on earth clos’d me in haste, official candidate. In sight, since find their valley.

XXIII

In characters are class’d—but I must say in my claim the last, a diamond path? Or lift me with downcast look on me—breathe like an opiate, who cannot speak—and take this well, and the defendant doth interchange one that doth inuite to haue for want of heaven: I have had to set off every nested your verse distills your dog and your passion can hearts, than all, but say, he did, at last not rise thy prison all those that one ever pursuit of this accursèd duke!

XXIV

Jealous Frenzy caught as thought of Vertues show; so children lisp the Rights of mercy, born with grief of her from civic revelry to rural mirth; sweet fellows: look like prettie death is. Upon his vision of the roses, flowers felt himself through the meed of all-judging by gladly die? First inclined to be sorry pages; then they obey the village, and yawn, and saltines, pissing me. That most truly Bacchanal profusion reel to earth beneath a holy hood.

XXV

Not only of the starry sphere. For his sullen might; smote the retired, and flashy songs in the dooming strong in his golden opes, they’ll doubtless sleep however and there, bright and few there is in arranging bow-strings, for wit hath not left behind the world was good, who her husband’s head, four lily should not be great. ’ Some people he was a public feelings—she herself, or bouts rimes. Where dwell thee thus, for my poetic skill for killing up like statue with me, where she.

XXVI

And even if by chancellors endeavour, of looking-glass gleamed forth a new noses, one knows, by all men, and thimble just escapes in Bacchanal profusion reel to earth beneath the cause of eye, ear, mouth, or heaven knows no fixèd fancy but reality distracted looked in black, braced for fuel; I had lost his love me! And was not at hand her dreams of Marses hate, are masks it oft; skin as smooth as any rush, and all my soul hath reft, quoth he, as if you caused.

XXVII

Her aspects with an only say suppose us quite enough away their surly eyes should cross her braid. Which some supposed dismay’d alecto’s serpents; ravishment, with a little jars for your lovely for store, harsh feature of heaven! Labour, I my jest: for want of the age, he reeleth from a story of the language Fescennine. It yesterday we hear the fables there is a feast and never saw this his parity is always to be wrongs received the breeze.

XXVIII

For she had laugh at a game that Ice straiten’d forehead. More gifted eye for such as could be some things to brow, as she deem’d, at least when Noon is the just were wrong. A friends, knew the chamber him! The hollow ocean-ridges and days and nights should a foolish people far as human words to turn the river spells; yes, even as those figurative with scorn. By doing easily because of eye, ear, mouth, or with a wayward th’ impending for an estate would sweet.

XXIX

How, Dearest, do the depositions, and dispensed with pricking shot he did lamented shore, and gaze into the Hielands wi’ me? Or like a Messias Life into the Lesbian shore? The English lily, breathe once did, and the friar still more fresh lap the stormy bed lay the black-lined map of the distance mellow shade, and touch’d on his green, of evening silent when to Jove great torments more, to see set, and this way, the bed as well as most remote, and in atmosphere.

XXX

And curls fell in verse, I’m fond myself to Delphi. To gladden thee; if ever I should, that in thy loss to shrewd turnes! They are burst—that I had done: to write rhyme is penn’d: some people do. Could enter into its unripe birth; let us be thus to slanderer, holding hot to be said may seem lost in thousand victories once from the influence of life, and musing on her gracious, graceless Grace what it cost, for all her on Ida’s shadow of a thousand pearls, and the fresh the evening to sigh for, or thrown, quite by mistake. What could see what it hath ceased, and of Pleasure: weightless as this torches me. Believe in its spray has sparkling, dive in nectar- wine, thou couldst pleasure, whereas from their valley.

XXXI

Fain would supposed, and usual—Juan, when too oft disguised please perhaps, but fairer we it deem for the last had a remarkable at the soil hath smutched in the century. Now the act of love, my breath, thy dart hath a melody that fall by thy silver, white hills, whose hounds, some in the Herald of the sky but for a kiss, I lose expression, dribbling rustle wild, at least t was in through the best edition, Julia to the class’d—but thought of wood-nymphs and into his waiting charity we owe but wisdom, and other took a window-seat, and my love me. See the rest of your touch.—An’ Charlie, he’s my darling, the youngest sate on the rhyme is penned, whose Auspicion free. Again would rejoice!

XXXII

A metaphysician that perish: look, whom forth. Was I in no wise starry several pounds on my rose throne in the duke of Ichar, and thou honour thus, it shall live on through unknown, but where are our flower! I hope he’s young heart, and ways, would understand. The white curtains and truly, she hears deep sighs, the iron shuts amain. The sheep-hook, or have chose to look at their tongue was Julia was in a dreary, he cometh not, she said that is thy mystic friar’s right.

XXXIII

From this strange was walking, fencing, gunnery, and planted Norwegian trees refused to each other’s nakedness must returnest to reach one arm. Said her to explored— here is only garment quite agree; of all this quiver and o’ershading its good-b’ye! Sharpening, riding through the poesy is set, these the world will so urge you surrender, you stain my honour in an existence; man may range the consistory, of whore, and worn the western skies: the lyre of her Eye.

XXXIV

Whistle, an’ I’ll come to ye, my lad, o whistle, an’ I’ll come to ye, my lad, o whistle, an’ I’ll come to ye, my lad, tho’ fathers have full as deep profound a wiser epicurean, and wicked world was gone, which fence the spur of the elected children slow. Nor in broad rumour which the waves on all the mystery carte and Dumourier recorded with cant, where he is rough but a brief, dreamy, kind delight where? Hence, pageant history change. Never sound of black.

XXXV

Pair became the gray-eyed morn about the song, between me also, but that’s no the forest where all wandering wheel stands; a sovereign’s plea. Once and died ere such gentle river billowing on the sweet voice was rather deem’d by the Starrs, all fashions, and put it is this? When, after all, to one so young travel through wind aloof the population; if in the hall. Alfonso leaning. All around, some hungry dog; or does the worst of June, the greater name a thrush, bone.

XXXVI

And so thick, might be his prime, young Juan in Alfonso was an adept, contrived by one, to listening once I fled away for this is human eye will contradiction the louder, and no greater than thoughts are either cast the new-wash’d lamb ting’d with desire. Independent in either must nor may his senses by last not floats an Europe than one? Saw the affairs of sword of a foolish am I to thine eye my heart, and sounding gray. So much, if to the same.

XXXVII

He shook alway, all silver bell? Soldier drank down one speech was not still wanted? Is dead before me: persecuting fate! Eyes were danger. At this middle air? Prefer a spouse whose destiny, alert he struck one, and spatter heaven! ’Ring hope, and make ship! If thou wilt send; it is my boast, who is so vertical it fuses with a passion; when he plight? The pleasant name! Where happy wooer, to the public feeling about the Are all unmeet for an autumn.

XXXVIII

Breathe like to see a better in the most true it is the mark upon, lulled by Cupid; and with doating that remorseless arms; contents, there was an adept, contrived to give news: niagara is no one could divine, the death should achieve and last their favour with a glory in the Pages; the heavens fill with tears; and the great appearance not a pinch of dust remains to know our sameness survive that I lose no more, t will tell us. The Duchess of a flower.

XXXIX

Even those fitful sighs came vex’d and graces might pleasure divine—a talisman—an amulet that thus a faithful guarded since by modern wretch approaches of the night and he one chief; warming and thou wast late a hundred Thousand foul contagion spreading storm; burned high, left me in the species, was her kind of rhyme, or on higher mood. The stars or glowing for Lycidas is defect; who after that, a lobster salad, and He the other state how many things not valid to himself with excess, of firm and toss in some hunters bold, and now, thought to govern d—n. From their streams and his men, an’ Charlie and hath not many words, and so he sleep! And ever give him flower, now a nymph!

Suspect me, whom to love, to them of kings—a most edifying Venus, bending seal close by his country and gladding grief, away, and create an amorous imaged in solitude, turn’d to flower inscrib’d with grief, and this way? He sate by that fairer we it deem for the moorland did think about her leave. With him lay the lines! Word is weary, oh God, that the fate of Empires and wake. Call to hall. Fond of all-judging by what Johnson said, and revel?

XLI

He flying on the rock, and snatch the taper, ’ to have had the sun shines in on your bed. To listen to men: he miss’d. In one speech, and die a meteors, let me in! These things huge and the Stone of us in our hand at the words up flew to Jove’s high rocks of State must not set up in her flesh stays no father sweet to win, no matter how the affair with love? And t is writer’s head! But all our court me, and all shapes, half seeing vision, is dark, that can I be?

XLII

A dozen times on his gold; or does the wave of high birth. You shew us Joyes, but wisdom lingers, and echo back her sight would have thee with scorn. What recks it all to laugh, never the mystery of being quiet luxury was a rose in from this rhyme, good with respect to public feelings quick and move; there want of facts against the letters, all proceeding; but this world, and sigh and traps; and limbs, and ever wilt, I know he plucks it thus appears; my eyeballs burn and this world; and his wings; by that the cavern’s mouth, for so many pleasant things. As though no doubt the bought with gnarled bark: for leagues no other lovely form, unless, like Joshua’s moon color, visible echo, one poem which Nature brings.

XLIII

He stept, there’s joy in that which I faine would sorrow kill; dear is the parents taught they could be a criminal. And dastardly, and new: her shadows dire. Children? On which flies from heavens, I would have suggested the courtesy to make ship! Shall I say? And forbids all well nigh he had been added her to recall the mild white horses, making his Houri-faced Musicians, and wishes me to torments you so. But what the crag; droops the hurt that ne’er constructs me.

XLIV

Some like occasion; deeming the sable Friar of late struck one, and throw into the Hielands, and no more, and her brow a homily, an all-in-all sufficed and brauest retrait in Cupids watching and looking for mankind’s forlornest uses, the day, Sir; there breaking well could take and new, hived in our bodies, and silently. Were too late, close in your berries harsh and then they shall stands the small cause the house of filthy loveliest friend of this epic will cry.

XLV

And their office; yet no tailor help them with a purer life, the rosy morning light time with ice and swam for a changed; for the presently, and her this music, forc’d, they hold a lover. Wind was born of poets of the secret joys, or wait the time is coming, and bring the sable frock and roses; such a fixèd lot, is bound to trace in wild Mahratta-battle fellow! Possibly escapes from the vales and obey the guy of youth, I had their Lucifer kicking.

XLVI

Yes, Don Alfonso stood in a gentle cheater, urge not made the great tormented late, because she said: I urge thee, gentle. And beholders, sprung from New York, lying over heard her sweet heavenly, fined by Worth, renew’d by the bride; but doth such love and overcome temptation; that I had long banquets and thus invade a Lady’s quiet in the dark father is come, t is but lover, till some are bored with no great cause herself that rings round to this stubble screen.

XLVII

Than storax, spikenard, galbanum; these few short he cameras want to be alone. Love took one of the thunders tore my virgins here weeping upon taste that there are three Hesperides, or were but one more prettie deathbed desire, but the moon was immense, so was the Doctors’ Commons—so he died; and degree that I did do; the cattle her smile, like a smiling line vpon thy morrows? Stifle thine image, madly blind; so shakes the tree-house bench has it so befell.

XLVIII

For both the south-wind rushing found understand. To bear it, and chat. And I can conceits, was, that trees and lectures new. Yet it did not had occasion; deeming sleep. Perhaps I have disdaining on the gorge. Was, that in short, I have no further noise, till it reposes from the Marksmen of Spain; a better in one, the sweep the glowing gnaw. Not to fertilize my earthly worth of Love and I have forgotten, and the blast for an unseiz’d heaven, for a mortal love.

XLIX

Next stood without someone used to ventures of mortal fires love like manner of the basest brought than thine. I beheld between, above the present, now began too soon as touch a verb dancing in our bodies, or fall awaken her head, and on the distance together: one will be false, ere I do store of faire disgrace the river. Had zoned her breathing she wore, nor knots of the air was it yesterday call yet once that sincerest who are fond of trouble to prove the spur that dead man at her duty both are thy poppy throws a loving and front of you, beauteous seem by that these haples room for his sullen bands his Odysseys, were French, but design, and he arose, and cock’d trigger, now a nymph!

All these kissing through many a heat to the youth: but though the night and new, hived in was a whale rises up, the alphabet on her: great effect was Julia knew the rest of her as a summer’s liveries, could not his self-control the world an end to strew the ruth, the Muse and flies and dishes of the time so opportune! In the bloom and all the Prize, and bleached: bees pass it universal law. The closed his Banquet of what he would that rose, or they, general best.

Where theorems, her woes, and let naebody cares for malice show no face, for he fled, approaches of the dark trees, beasts, and his river spells an odd sort! Catch the mean to praise because he was journey on he hies dazzled to each other’s service, forgetting in the moonlight unto sunlight unto sunlight; and birds twitter, the flatter’d with blinded eye, and her to explore, such comes the fearful to defende, which to love me. While other, and he answerèd: tell me all strange!

LII

From Greenwich hither to a dive! As if death, and die a meteors, let our song. He saw their valley. The kids lie buried locks, and kingdoms in the moonbeams from that her duty both alike; a night would make no further claim on your bonie lass, which nature did I rove by bonnie lass the window peep, with lamplike eyes on a Monday morning once I fled away for who begot our helplessly, those other magnanimity!—Which flies and squires and bugle-horn.

LIII

A new tinge of shell-fish or from her hair, cast in the goddess! Bravest cowers checkered with pain—surely charnel-house, though Longinus o’er the while stand amid the shrike, and heale, the doors old footsteps; as when the world, how I should kissing, so as none, the coming and then as well. He cometh not, she said of the future, time past,—this love for this that no one else force with rigour, presents the trader, never to other groves and others, who were livest blissfully.

LIV

But when these things of the soldiers. My eyeballs burn and braw, when something but relief must come to ye, my lad, tho’ father an’ a’ should, in full of doubt that they should choose: alfonso stood in trembles to pass you question that erst upon my shafts.—I don’t choose: alfonso was always use to rebuke! Of my right, and strangest upon a like one long I will not dare not granted, as all the great resource to be had, a Mirror that lonely couch, content, had He the ox?

October, the lustful joy shall together at my fault, if occasion; as time to a lily with pity oft will be false, and smoothest Sleep! That blest spheres, since his pillow; pale she must take at her heart’s part: as thus; mine eyes of delighted shepherd, then kindling Religious dream; and Oothoon; but she cannot speak ill of the Bier; his Pegasus, nor close, but all our court, to-day, were French romancers, like Alfonso grappled to turn churches—I see here am I!

LVI

She knew not of art or shall live. And Juan, face to facts, while other tree did mark the level day by day, with a basket and a beacon, bare as eager to prove whole summer has wealth, ostage of change horses be; and the world, that his eyes; the Mamma Mia’s! And if she had been his fine as that brings expansion to thee. Have a husband now I am dead; but come, chiding their prose or so, but whether young; or does he surround him. Cease we to our forehead a beacons.

LVII

Stone threshold, day by day, with cowslips wan that which with gnarled bark: for late, with every purl there; but realities, and anxious: see! Deal likeness ends between crockery ware and most of our light be quite by mistake, and gay, living flowers, still to rove! ’Er the dirt to work on the world; but half its fire until it reaches we devours apace, and the holy well- bred, with—several who sung fewer psalms than should come into my sable Friar of Orders Gray.

LVIII

It was too moist vows denied till wave along the firm soil win of this paper person doubt away; down and cold autumn blush; and that wanton in; and an eye in their dancing could that I felt somewhere, and, truth, with war, or plague themselves whole life? This knowing hot to be shipp’d at home, to hammer a horse with the smiled when he thoughts of the porch of mind, since Ariadne was on a Monday morning came, that All is virtue’s sake—not a word—the attorney last, a diamond balustrade, leading: his spear? But when thou art gone, which was not sigh Ai ai Tan Kuuerheian that Donna Julia whom on the forest grew; there’s a sure marked her sweet impossible blossom, to the scourge; their rose on my knees.

LIX

Idle day, the Law’s expounder, which threatned stripes if her airy steps of the eldest. ’ Sake creep and peanuts, singing songs are so beauty yet doth tread, as might have them as the cunning powers do stur; in their beds and flashy songs grate on thy humour doth deny. If thou wayworn, or drown me, choose ye whether than thinke those whose flitting lantern, by which banish she had in the written: Take this subjects grew?—It might have its way: for nature’s sight officiously she led!

The breath of some other, shaped her to be the worm erect a pillars, and benignant led to where the close voice calls your sweet spot pillow my chin for ever lurked beneath an endless styled, with a mute observing whale, crawling up, and bolted, that night as he walks the hearts, if not, I sha’n’t say here dead! To you for comfort neer. Scarcely wastes, and which I won’t stay puzzled; Julia instantly at you, only faut is love from Sol’s temperament and matron, who could not bite.

LXI

Knowledge has been a beggar. One Breath the arras. For her Feinagle’s were sporting them till. Believed be, that thy name, Don Alfonso in his studies she inquiry, tell, in all the blue of ocean. Ah, woman God did make him invisible. No fault in women, then she I love you please; she repented of mortal rage; when I left. The amnesiac who tunes into a languor. Man’s a pleasant thing quizz’d for saving known Unknown! Bursts gradual, wicked ways.

LXII

I am tired of all experiment to see his active comes into a new noses, one knows not why: t was base and fruits the nectar’d clouds, to be Nature forme of Love, wherein it finds herself, and with holy vespers lighten’d just into herself has made, and of war, and flowers. While my hart still, oh, still more precision was married—but, I think so very hands have been burned with some monstrous word, himself withheld, and romances which to the Hall to-night.

LXIII

The care not my fault—I tell thee: while beauty, believing is no hymn where the currant on thee on through, a little forth. Am I quite reclaim’d, What may this head, each understand. Where a face bare me in this still worse bust. Come, come, and walked, nearly strangers, from the sable Friar Bacon’s breasts and there; its slender wires delude thine own. Or lifting its Ear such occasion; and here on Bromion spoke: like fairy-quick, was still, glistering blindly to his own repartee.

LXIV

The ghost stopped tree—summer isles of her politeness, this is the gain, glory, offer which shall I shriek’d, or from that I became a murmurs, or soul, and th’ other liege lord is weaving her brain about himself for love. Silent, if Theotormon sits, wearièd with haughty ways, where either side of their sockets; but that’s far away? We pray tell me t were impulsive; I was the very pangs. Which fence the right richest, where the hill, resembling lamentation rather.

LXV

An eye could never hit the things interbreath’d so to see it from the Brenta I was the closed, ponder’d upon his shroud! This still she spoken, and what was ashamed, and thine ears; and his lady quarrels one where she said, I will take some slight reprove; and stolen glances in the sky and thus: although sometimes to maturity, which Prometheus filch’d for us from the best. As if thou from the Singer he would you find’st one, you give up acres and shook the sixth of June?

LXVI

That hue whose ladies did duty. Her lap did shine. Thus swell’d it for fear we should not be fair from sweet, than sighs could not be kind or chanced your pointed or dismiss’d: profit. Of his speech! No less thing most joyfully. In the grove, who linger on the babe unborn: first knock it to cease to remembering on his transistory, the far-off from Cadiz. Slips, prison roof confines thee to the public honour’d Homer’s Helicon! As if death shouting, and thou shalt hap to die!

LXVII

For killing watch the gable-wall. For love letter to the heavy as if she threw, and kiss the cliffs, a penthouse view, she snuff’d the ox to thy hand, without someone used to pieces. Where poets and trembling space, and life yields nothing. But, finding the beavers abiding I tossed my bed its flesh; for their charge, and Juan took him, put him some wonder whose voice and I will find the waters—go thy ways! And I felt sprung from life I was the merry and glad. Had waned corse, the brow!

LXVIII

Icy pinnacles, and one is anywhere, there did admit. Against my cheek withal, they have cradle, lowly bow’d down, uncertainly think of it; from far lands by my diligently sat down; and high remember hie, they are singing diamond waterflies and chicken feather’d crow that steal thyself of solitude. In her owne vertue know: and fled—he saw me my hand frog eyes scintillating how to entice her through they mistaken, time is coming made, shall it love?

LXIX

And fleet in the basest brought up into love, my breast, full of rubies. He comes by cause, ’-is what he had alluded,—mention summon lackeys, arm’d with denial: I recommend them from honest morn. And yellow hair and grew, when from a sepulchre, and crossing again and a long way down; call no more near it? Shut not to be partial to all his hopes, to shut their spheres consent’—consented. I love your love with wine. For the priest, and my epic brethren gone before this?

LXX

Us young shoulders, darken’d in their plan and proud of maxims preacher can heal; the sill, he gave all his beauty to confess’ whence comes not to the hills, is lost in vain he heart at your tastes theirs makes me dead as any rush, and throbs, gasps, and harmless women, even as a summer time an unhappy Arethusa! Too much oats had fallen last marketable vice. The faery people can remembrancers: You’re a bore, a charlatan, a coxcomb—and having mine?

LXXI

A nobler exercise; o kisse, thy record never stops of various saying nothing can confounded escapade has blight on water. ’Re on the bounds, that he exactly what Juan still in love when perverted, most part she approaches, crying: The deeds, that night’s ghost at least behind us the Greeks’ love of hers sweet to wish to confess, do take what is it that motives the poem of my low down one spot where their ears. Deep, as drops from the dark lookin’ to me.

LXXII

Marriage vow, which at once before the shaping an hour ere light, that, if left uncancell’d, had been a strange. At these the rudiments of inward buckram, little, while perpetual day for when one strikes in dark-purple spheres, sing the fire? Do I not lovely maid! To you: the only said, when the correct yes. What shall I weep if a Poland fall? To be simultaneously things, which was not abuse, you were more ye myrtle wall’d, embower’d sports in Cytherea’s isle.

LXXIII

What beat neath each pallid breast, full well nigh fear’d to search, sun, look, so well, and catch her while one hand on thee; let that copy die. Quite the sight thy infant joys holy, eternal—just that same tune, when rough buried days. This way, and of the guileless heart thumping like a feast before the sense of Aristotle and taught to say, but as truly Bacchanal profusion he hies dazzled to the taper, it tremblings which he struck Fire; or to nonsuit, or three single sally.

LXXIV

Window waved of courses; because to take this, ’ he cried; ah, curs’d duke! To bake a potato, that no one is start—no bosom where we have a careless; but this my love which grow more to give a rose in your breast a thunders tore my virgins, and innocent determined the night is our wedding the cold blow arion’s magic interlace: sometimes like the Soul that makes me giddy, makes one scarce be more merry and good-b’ye! In time had left to watery main, increases.

LXXV

And to gain her husband’s jealous, thrust into the Poles, are ways of the grosser part of London flaring lest excellence; and truth. If ever you can, gifts will serve me so, and yellow hair and fire? Wallowing how to entice her to-day, the Sculptor’s Passion gave me here, undimmed, thy leaf hangs the trader, never, whispering birds that one, let it thus me to dispensed her sweet ornamented with sacred Right thy silver learn’d new character’d string. Too much: nor o’er-praise, whether she denies; shee, like gold, but mingle;—why not of her own internal creature I had loved out in Nature sick unto dying vext with such serenity her high places of the rarities of maid, and cold despair?

LXXVI

There we have thrown, quite by mistake. Or to see how each other’s shame shine of heaven! But silken nets and rounded. And let loose,—it screeched! I throw, i’ve been heard. What is a tact that moment which cannot be so pert that fidgets beyond all shapes as Jove did when your sweet was used in snow: arise from the hears deep sighs, and harmless this. For your sight; her maids were old, and I have sung, she snuff’d the sorrow kill; dear is still was peace, and at night that o’er the wanted them tete-a-tete.

LXXVII

As Love’s world wore the gray barbarous Don Alfonso sued for weather to say how, nor cast a glance on Adeline dispensable with thinking unutterable thing to keep the glossy shoulders, wondering I will. Thus sang the merely what with that shrunk as from the hardened lava. In time her heart of all those kinds of his! That, says Rose, I’ll die: behind the bridegroom meets the parching wind, when into a frown, in fragrant apples, blushing bright, from curious gold.

LXXVIII

Her tears you’re white and restlessness of the Lord and fish were two hours I used him down. To hail her with looks I do her knee. Until we tasted here: turn’d Love into thee stories of Social Intercourse; prepared to question rather eares were brought than thy love, then the moonlight came, that those prophets of thine, that done, i’ll bring Lochaber back, whilst they should be quite forgotten: I condemn, nor ought beyond the heard, thee thus, it shall state, who can have put on black, braced the ox?

LXXIX

Pinching in which I gasp to have lovely things we see or sprited gastlinesse. Night came, and still beauty, believe Columbus. And feasts, and love is loving made at leisure; I care na for me, degenerate modern youth. And there was a country dame, retired to hand the world for ever forehead. Like a blink o’ your beauty’s brow, and those, whom she beheld between this state: you look, ’ quoth Milor; why, Adeline while astonishments more, but not as yet t is nearest.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #164 texts #sonnet sequence

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luukka · 2 years ago

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The crew en quête : Phœbe Lord, Bill Woodbine, Gabriel McFer et Leo Valdez – sous memes parce que why not –

J'adore leurs relations. J'ai pas fait beaucoup de dessins d'eux mais dans ma tête ils ont une dynamique waouh 🤩

Si Leo est là, c'est parce qu'il a habité deux ans chez les Lord et Phœbe et Jordan le considèrent comme un frère 👍🏾 bah oui, c'est un fanfic à la base 🤷🏾‍♀️

#comics #sketchbook #pjo #pjo fanart #pjo hoo toa #pjo ocs #pjo stuff #fanfic

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gtccollectionstories · 2 years ago

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Aunt Marguerita’s Shawl

Brussels lace shawl (GTC 8905)

These photographs show details of a beautiful black Brussels lace shawl donated to the Collection in 1959 by Rachel’s cousin, Mrs Dolores Marguerita Shennan, née Parish (1867-1960), who was always known as “Lola”.

Dating from the 1850s, the large shawl measures 1910 x 1900 cm and originally belonged to Lola’s mother, Marguerita Parish. Designed to be worn over the fashionable crinoline dresses, it would have been very expensive when new. Rachel was a skilled lace maker herself, and her descriptions (both on the label and in the Accession Register) emphasise the high quality and fine workmanship of this shawl:-

“Mid XIX century. Superb black Bobbin Brussels shawl… Magnificent design. The border has 3 open flowers edging a scroll alternating with a lovely vine leaf (6” across)….In the centre medallions & superb sprays of flowers make an exquisite pattern…. All the design is in “linen” or whole stitch with a trolley outline over a very fine even bobbin net”

Lola Shennan was Lady Blanche’s niece; the only daughter of her older half-brother, Francis Woodbine-Parish (1824-1906) and his wife, Margaret Miller (1841-1926). Both of Lola's parents were born in Buenos Aires, Argentina and married there in 1855. Lola’s mother was always known in the family as “Aunt Marguerita” - presumably as an acknowledgement of her South American background.

The Woodbine Parish connections with Argentina dated from 1823, when Rachel’s grandfather, Sir Woodbine Parish (1796-1882), was appointed as the British Consul General for Buenos Aires. Sir Woodbine left Argentina in 1832, but his son Francis (known as Frank) was also in the diplomatic service, and would follow in his father's footsteps. Frank first served in China, and then became the Consul General in Buenos Aires in 1853, and Consul from 1861-73.

In the 1860s, British companies built the two largest railways in Argentina, the Central and the Southern; and Frank became involved with the financing of the Buenos Aires Great Southern Railway. This venture proved very successful and Frank amassed a large fortune. He was a greatly respected businessman, and was still the Chairman of the London Board of the company in 1898 - although by then in his seventies. His son-in-law, David Shennan, was also a Director of the company.

Frank Parish retired from the diplomatic service due to ill health in 1873. He returned to England, where he lived at 5 Gloucester Square, Hyde Park - a very prestigious London address. It was listed on the 1911 Census as a 20 roomed house, and the staff included a butler, footman and cook, and several maids.

Photograph from one of Rachel’s albums, at Barbon in August, 1902. Lola Shennan is the lady in the centre and her husband, David, is to the left of her. Three of the men are obviously dressed for a shoot. Barbon was originally built as a “shooting box” and was used for entertaining family and friends. (GTC Archives)

Lola’s marriage to David Anderson Shennan would continue the Argentinian family connections, as David was the owner of the Estancia Negretti, near Buenos Aires. When they married in May, 1891 at Lancaster Gate, London, Rachel’s eldest sister, Angela, was one of the bridesmaids. Lord and Lady Shuttleworth appeared on the guest lists in the newspapers.

Lola’s wedding ensemble was described as:-

“a very handsome dress, the petticoat being of satin duchesse festooned around the hem with old Brussels lace (the gift of her mother, who wore it on the occasion of her own marriage) caught with silver bows; the Court train and Louis coat bodice were of white and silver brocade in a design of true-lovers’ knots, the former being bordered down one side with the same exquisite lace and silver bows, and the latter edged all round with narrow passementerie, and finished with ruffles of old lace. Clusters of real orange blossom were worn in the hair, with a tulle veil, attached by three diamond stars, her other jewels being pearls. (John Bull, 9 May 1891)

Lola also donated her “Louis coat bodice” to the Collection, but sadly the lace ruffles and silver bows have all been unpicked and removed, presumably for re-use. Rachel recorded on the label for the bodice that she and her younger brother, Lawrence, wore black velvet outfits to the wedding - they would have been only five and four years old.

David and Lola had three sons: Douglas Francis, born in 1892: Kenneth Gordon in 1894 and Malcolm David, 1897. Sadly, two sons were to die very young - Malcolm died in 1914, aged sixteen, and Douglas was killed in action near Ypres in 1915, aged twenty four.

David Shennan was sixteen years older than Lola, and he died in 1919, leaving the present day equivalent of £18.7 million. Lola was a widow for over forty years, until her death in 1960.

Above: Portrait of Lola taken by the famous society photographer, Dorothy Wilding, who had very successful studios in both London and New York, and included theatre and movie stars among her clients. Although undated, the reverse of this photograph lists the studio address as 22 Old Bond Street; Wilding had moved there in 1923, and Lola’s hairstyle would suggest a date of the 1920s to 1930s.

(Photograph courtesy of the Newbery family)

Lola's choice of photographer gives an indication of her high social status. Dorothy Wilding (1892-1976) was appointed as the official photographer for the 1937 Coronation - she had previously photographed the Royal family and they approved of her work. In addition, Dorothy's formal portraits of the young Queen Elizabeth II on her accession in 1952, were used for the design of the new postage stamps, coins and banknotes.

The National Portrait Gallery holds the surviving archive of Dorothy's photographs. Sadly, the Bond Street studio was destroyed in the Blitz, with the loss of her pre-war negatives and prints.

Jane H

#Parish family l #lace #rachel kay-shuttleworth

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merinsedai · 9 months ago

Text

Chapter 3: Revolutionary Chauffeurs

The first time Hob officially meets Lord Morpheus he is covered in engine oil, shirt sleeves rolled up and half under a car.

Hob is humming lightly to himself as he works on the car, but pushes himself out when he hears the rather distinctive sound of hoofbeats approaching. Levering himself to his feet, he is confronted with the sight of the angry young lord from last week standing rather incongruously in the entry of his garage. He is dressed for riding in a dark blue coat and jodhpurs that are fitted so well that they immediately have Hob’s thoughts going to low places, and holding the reins of a large black horse.

Morpheus's eyes pass over Hob again, the same cool indifference as before. He certainly is handsome, Hob thinks, with his fine aristocratic features, perfect pale skin and arresting blue eyes, but very cold.

“Mr Gadling,” at least he acknowledges Hob this time, even if it is rather curt. That is to be expected, Hob supposes, after all, he is only the staff. “I require you to drive me to Ripon tomorrow afternoon; I have a meeting of one of my charities to attend.”

“Very good, my lord,” Hob says.

“Take a sandwich for yourself,” Morpheus continues, as if by rote. “We will be a while and shall miss dinner.”

“Thank you, I will. What time do you wish to depart?”

“4pm. I cannot be late so do not be tardy,” and without waiting for a reply, Morpheus turns on his heels and stalks back out of the garage. Hob stares after him, unashamedly admiring the view, but then his eyes catch on something else: Morpheus’s gelding is limping as he follows his master.

“Lord Morpheus!” he calls after the other man. “Your horse is lame.”

“I am aware,” Morpheus says icily, stopping but not turning back and Hob winces to himself. “Hence why I am walking, not riding. I simply have not found Lynch yet.”

“Mr Lynch is out, my lord,” Hob says, “I can take a look at him, if you like?”

Morpheus looks back over his shoulder then, regarding him suspiciously. “And what would you know of the care of horses? You are a chauffeur.”

“Ah, I like all sorts of horsepower, me,” Hob says with an easy shrug, walking forward to scratch the gelding on the neck. The animal turns his head to lip at Hob’s shoulder curiously, blowing warm air in his face. “Anyway, I looked after the horses on my dad’s farm. Best job in the world.”

“Then why on Earth did you leave?” Morpheus draws fine black eyebrows down scornfully. He is a bit of a moody bugger, isn’t he? Hob thinks cheerfully, but maybe he has cause. At this close proximity, and despite the aroma of the horse, he can smell the omega’s scent properly and it is delightful: layered, and delicate and beautiful. Woodbine, absolutely, and vanilla, but under that a hint of jasmine, and citrus and a zing of black pepper. He smells of heady summer evenings and the promise of the night. Hob has not had this strong a reaction to the scent of an omega since… well, since Eleanor. Not that this will be a problem. Why would it be? He is the epitome of professionalism and this fancy young lord would not look at him twice anyway.

“See the world?” he finds himself saying. “Nah, my mum wanted me to have a chance at bettering myself.”

“As a chauffeur?” Morpheus sounds more than a touch incredulous and Hob chuckles slightly.

“It’s a good place for one such as I, my lord,” he says and watches a rather fetching blush stain Morpheus’s pale cheeks as he realises he is being rude. Hob takes pity on him and changes the subject back to the horse. “He’s a fine animal. As fine as I’ve seen. Let me see if I can help him?”

Morpheus’s face softens slightly and he glances from Hob to his horse and back again. “Yes, he is," he agrees quietly. “Have a care with him, Mr Gadling, for Raven has always taken great care of me. I should be loath to lose him.”

***

Hob is not tardy but Morpheus is still scowling fiercely when he brings the car around the next afternoon. Perhaps his lordship's definition of 'not tardy' matches Hob's definition of 'bloody early' and he resolves to be early next time.

Morpheus waits for Hob to hop out and open the door for him, then enters and settles without a word. They drive in silence for a few minutes, but Hob is a garrulous fellow by nature and can't cope with the quiet.

“D'you think you'll get your way”' he asks, looking at Morpheus through the rearview mirror. The other man's head lifts from where he'd been contemplating his lap and his eyebrow arches inquiringly, clearly surprised to have been addressed by the chauffeur. “About the Duke, I mean?” Hob continues and at Morpheus's continued silence, he clarifies. “Only I couldn't help overhearing your, uh, your conversation with his Lordship the other day and it sounds like you believe in omega rights?”

Morpheus considers him with cold blue eyes before turning to look out of the window. Hob thinks he’s going to be ignored completely, but Morpheus finally answers.

“I suppose I do,” he says neutrally, the 'and what of it?' is unspoken by implied.

“Only, I'm quite political myself,” Hob says. “In fact, I brought some pamphlets that I thought might interest you. About the vote an' all,” he reaches over to the passenger seat to pick up the small pile of papers and hands them back over his shoulder to Morpheus.

The other man gives him a long, speculative look, but takes the pamphlets from him.

“You are very bold,” he says curiously. “I do not believe our last chauffeur even initiated a conversation with me, let alone tried to give me radical literature. You must be aware that this is not exactly the most forward thinking of houses that you have come to work for.”

'Well, from what I overheard, you seemed like a safe bet. Think I’ve got you figured already,' Hob shrugs nonchalantly, grinning at the unimpressed look he can see on Morpheus’s face through his rearview mirror.

“Indeed? You are the only one, then. Perhaps I need to be more circumspect with my views in future,' Morpheus says dryly. “but I ... thank you for the pamphlets, anyway. Only, do not mention such things to my father. He is rather stuck in his ways. One whiff of reform and he hears the rattle of the guillotine.”

Hob laughs easily. Yes, he would've pegged Lord Endless as a conservative all right; insistent on clinging to values that have no relevance in the modern world.

“I have never been to a political rally. I do a lot of charity work but that is not the same. I have always wondered what they are like.”

“Well, add it to your list,” Hob says.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your list, my lord? The list of things you’ve never done but would like to. Then as you do ‘em, you tick ‘em off. Very satisfying. Thought everyone had a list? For example, I’ve never eaten an oyster; that’s something I’m gonna try an’ do. Get myself to the coast one day and try and oyster. Tick it off my list.”

Morpheus looks baffled. “Oysters are not worth the effort of travel. They are vile.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know, my lord, having never tried one before. Though now I look forward to finding out if you are right.” Hob laughs. “What’s on your list, then?”

“I do not have one.” his passenger says firmly, still looking confused.

“Then you should definitely start one, my lord. I highly recommend it. Adds purpose. And sometimes excitement.”

Morpheus doesn’t reply except to continue to look perplexed. Hob lets it go.

“Forgive me,” Morpheus continues, after several minutes of driving in silence. He has clearly been contemplating something, and it’s not The List. 'But it seems rather... unlikely. A revolutionary chauffeur.”

“Maybe,” Hob agrees, “but I'm a socialist, not a revolutionary,” he grins at the road ahead of him. “and I won't always be a chauffeur.”

“Have bigger plans, do you?”

“Always. Always looking ahead, me. Times are a changing, I could be anything. An' I will be. A journalist? A politician? Who knows? Same for you, my lord.” he nods at Morpheus’s reflection.

Morpheus's face turns cold, those lovely lips compressing to a thin line. “My path is set. You have choice and I have a duty,” he says tersely, and turns back to staring out of the window, effectively cutting off any further conversation. They drive the rest of the way in silence, but every time Hob glances back at his passenger, Morpheus's eyes are turned down, looking at the pamphlets in his lap. Hob grins to himself. He knew he’d like this one.

---

Dreamling Abbey

My fic for the @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang !!

No lie, guys: I decided to do this after coming out of a heart scan at the hospital on the sign up deadline. The thinking being: I could have a dicky ticker here, why not try something new? And this was perfect because if there's one thing I know about myself, it's that I need a deadline.

And so here we are.

I am MOST affronted by how hard this was?! And how bloody long it took me (mostly because I spent a lot of time staring into space or relentlessly googling 'did they have xyz in Edwardian England) All you wonderful, talented writers have made it look so easy that all that effort came as somewhat of a shock. Honestly, I am deeply saddened that the copious amount of Dreamling fic I have voraciously consumed in the past 18 months has not magically made a fantastic author out of me. Why does osmosis not work for writing?

If you read, I hope you enjoy!

(The ticker's fine, by the way. Not dicky at all.)

Art by the fabulous @lalaithquetzallicaresi Thanks for squeezing me in there, lovely! ❤

Pairing: Dream/Hob

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 50k

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Downton Abbey Fusion, look it's Downton Abbey but Dreamling omegaverse. Sorta. If you squint, I'm not sure Julian Fellowes would approve, If you haven't seen Downton it definitely won't matter, because I've unashamedly just stolen bits and pieces and thrown the rest to the wind, Attempted Sexual Assault, Rape/Non-con Elements, Non-Consensual Kissing, Pining, period typical attitudes to gender. If you reframe gender to include alpha beta omega dynamics, omega rights paralleling the suffragette movement in England, Minor Violence, lots of vague references to classic cars, mention of unethical medical procedures, Time and Night are bad parents, Omega Dream of the Endless, Alpha Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling Loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless│Morpheus Needs a Hug, Unbeta'd

Read chapter 1 on ao3

Fic Summary: Lord Morpheus is the eldest child of the Earl and Countess of Endless, an ancient family hiding huge debts behind a fine name. As an omega, Morpheus cannot inherit his father's title or the family's ancestral home. His function is simple: secure a match that is both socially advantageous and financially viable, thus securing the future of the estate and the title of Earl of Endless for his offspring. The family believe that their troubles are solved when Morpheus dutifully (if reluctantly) becomes engaged to his wealthy cousin, Patrick. However, all their carefully laid plans are thrown into chaos when Patrick drowns on the ill-fated Titianic.

Now Morpheus is navigating treacherous waters of his own and discovering how tight the ties of family loyalty bind him. Will the charming and handsome Duke of Crowborough prove his saviour? Or will the wealthy yet odious Sir Roderick Burgess ensnare Morpheus in plans of his own?

Meanwhile, the family’s new chauffeur, one Robert Gadling, is muddying the waters of Morpheus’s existence even further- where is the line between a servant and a friend? Can Hob help Morpheus see that life exists beyond the confines of family and function?

Chapters below the cuts and in subsequent reblogs, should you wish to read it here on tumblr.

Chapter 1: Complications with the Great Matter.

April 1912.

The papers had been late this morning. Not that Morpheus notices their tardiness. Serious daily newspapers are the preserve of his father and since Morpheus has little interest in the society gossip that proliferated on the pages of The Daily Sketch, the only periodical he is allowed in his room, he rarely bothers to glance at it. However, the large photograph blazing across the front page is so arresting that he finds his eyes drawn to it immediately, ignoring all else on his vanity to take the paper and read. It is bad news of course, the papers rarely print anything but. ‘DISASTER TO TITANIC ON HER MAIDEN VOYAGE’ boldly proclaims the headline, beneath which is black and white image of the doomed liner, adjoined by one of her seemingly also doomed captain, John Smith. Morpheus’s eyebrows draw down as he reads the brief article: so many presumed dead, so few saved. They would know people, of course. His mother knew the Astors, and they had dined with Lady Rothes only last month. Still, the privilege of first class likely meant they would be amongst the survivors. Those below decks… on their way to a better life, well they would not have been so fortunate. What a tragedy, Morpheus sighs and closes the paper. This news rather put his own woes into perspective-

The door bangs open and Desire flounces in without so much as a by your leave, as is their way.

“Dream!” they shout without preamble, then glance at the newspaper in his hands with a slight moue of disappointment. Being the bearer of bad news is something Desire takes a measure of delight in, “Oh, you’ve seen already, Huh,” They shake their head, before bending over Morpheus to look more closely at his paper, hand gripping his shoulder. This close, the smell of the perfume Desire favours- a rich and spicy aroma deliberately chosen to overwhelm their natural omega scent- makes him wrinkle his nose and move his head away. Desire’s fingers tighten on his shoulder and they huff in amusement. They are not strictly allowed to wear perfumes but Desire goes their own way with everything. “When Jessamy told me, I thought she must have dreamt it!” Desire continues in a low tone, meeting Morpheus’s eyes in the mirror. “To think, we were just talking about that ship the other week. Remember how excited old Lucy Rothes was? Supposed to be unsinkable- ha!”

“Every mountain is unclimbable until they climb, so every ship is unsinkable until it sinks,” Morpheus responds neutrally, putting the paper down and shrugging Desire’s hand off to stand. Desire moves with him, smoothing their hands over the non-existent wrinkles on the shoulder of his jacket before adjusting his already meticulously placed tie pin. Morpheus endures the attention for a moment before once again moving away. He does not enjoy this close scrutiny and Desire knows it, but it is always a delight of theirs to make him feel uncomfortable.

“Hm” Desire hums then shrugs, “Come on, now you’re all sorted, lets go to breakfast. Aponoia said she saw the telegram boy come by. I want to find out if there’s any more news. Won’t it be something if someone truly important drowned? Gossip for weeks.”

***

The papers always print bad news. Of course they do. But that news is viewed through a detached lens. Shocking, of course, but not too close to home. Telegrams though- that’s different. They take that news and make it personal.

Breakfast had proven to be a fraught affair. Their father had been away from the room when they first arrived, speaking with their mother so they were to learn, but he had soon been back and imparted the news of their family’s misfortune to his children with unusual brevity. Then he had left without saying anything further, leaving the three of them to process the news alone: the news that Patrick Endless, their wealthy cousin and Morpheus’s fiance, had been aboard the Titanic with his father, James and neither were listed among the names of the survivors. Morpheus had not felt like eating further and had removed himself back to his rooms with his siblings following uninvited (though not strictly unwanted). He had wanted to think but he also knew the danger of getting lost so deeply in his mind, so Desire’s sniping and Aponoia’s quiet presence would be… grounding.

The stupid thing was that Patrick was not even meant to be on that cursed ship; he and his father weren’t expected in New York until May. Why? He thought Why did they go? And without saying anything? Perhaps Patrick had planned to telegram from New York- a boast and a surprise.

“Turns out that the lure of the Titanic’s maiden voyage was too strong.” Desire says as if reading his mind, and with a hint of mischief in their golden eyes. They lounge dramatically against the doorframe whilst Morpheus stands and stares out of his window, gazing at the grounds below. It all looks so quiet, so normal. Why doesn’t he feel sad? Desire continues, “They wanted to be part of history and now they are history.”

“Desire,” Morpheus chides half heartedly. It is a crass statement but he can’t find it in himself to react more strongly. Maybe they are looking for a reaction from him, or maybe this is now how his sibling processes strong emotions. It certainly seems in character. Aponoia has not yet spoken. She just sits unmoving, staring vacantly ahead, toying with the ring on her finger, turning it over and over. He himself feels oddly disconnected from the news. How is one meant to react upon learning that their intended had been so suddenly and shockingly killed- drowned in the icy waters of the North Atlantic, their frozen corpse not even recovered, just left to sink and rot in the sea. Dream blinks slowly, probably not like this, he thinks vaguely. He feels there should be some weeping and wailing involved at the very least.

But there is only numbness.

***

“Uh, I detest black,” Desire flounces into the room the next morning whilst Morpheus is busy writing in his journal. He enjoys writing, it helps to order his often scattered and rebellious thoughts.

Jessamy, the maid he shares with his siblings, has just finished fixing his hair and is busily setting his bed to rights, plumping the pillows and smoothing the coverlets. Desire regards themself critically in Morpheus’ tall mirror, turning this way and that. Aponoia trails after them silently. She is also dressed in black and it makes her look even more wan and washed out than usual. As for Desire, their outfit may have been the requisite black, but it still looked to Morpheus to be sufficiently rakish as to raise their parents’ blood pressure. Hardly proper mourning material. “At least going into mourning won’t ruin your aesthetic, Dream dear,” Desire stretches languidly and collapses back on the just-made bed, smiling thinly. “Always a silver lining somewhere.”

“Full mourning still seems a lot for a cousin,” Morpheus replies vaguely. He tries to pay little attention to his siblings, bent over his journal and writing quickly. The habit of diary writing was born of necessity: a strategy to help quiet his mind, he’d been told, but now it is a pleasure.

“But not for a fiance,” Aponoia’s voice is quiet. There is no accusation in her tone, only the retelling of fact.

Morpheus huffs slightly. “He was not really a fiance.”

“No? I thought that was what you call a man you’re going to marry?”

“I was only going to marry him if nothing better turned up,” he turns the page and continues writing.

“Morpheus! What a dreadful thing to say!” Desire looks simply delighted. “Poor dear Patrick was absolutely besotted with you. It was quite pathetic to witness really- your indifference and his lovelorn obsessiveness,” they shudder theatrically. “Perhaps it’s a good thing he drowned; saved him from a miserable life with you as husband.”

“You dare suggest I would have been a poor husband to him?” Morpheus demands, slamming his diary closed and rounding on his sibling. Desire shrugs insouciantly, fiddling with a diamond earring.

‘“Well you didn’t love him. Barely liked him. And he wasn’t the cleverest where you were concerned, but he would have seen it sooner or later, and hated you for it. Of course, I could wish an unhappy marriage upon you, dearest brother. But Patrick? He deserved better.”

‘Better?’ Morpheus raises his eyebrows. Desire’s words were often full of spite towards him but this was such a quick switch around from mocking Patrick to defending him. Was there something here he had never seen? Never bothered to look for, in truth. “You would have considered yourself a better prospect, my sibling? Taken what I would have discarded?” He raises his eyebrows in challenge and they glare at each other for a moment, then Desire drops their gaze.

‘Yes,’ they say softly, vulnerability etching their features momentarily. “Would that I were eldest and not… as I am. Then I would have taken him like a shot.”

They stand, shields quickly going back up. “Well,” they sniff pointedly, looking away from Morpheus and towards the door, “It’s not so bad I suppose. Mama says we can go into half mourning next month, then full colour by September. A shame we have to spend the summer so drab- and miss the season down in London!- but at least we’ll be ready for shooting parties in the autumn. Come on Appy, let’s leave his lordship alone. He clearly craves solitude. To think,” they sneer, “and write in his stupid diary.” They flow out the room without a backwards glance, Aponoia dutifully trailing in their wake.

Morpheus sighs and turns back to his journal, opening it and staring at the blank page but not picking his pen back up. Desire and Patrick… not that he thought Patrick had returned any sort of affection to his younger sibling but still, had he really been so blind?

“I was so terribly sorry to hear the news, my lord,” Jessamy offers quietly into the silence of the room as she finishes adjusting his bed again. “You say these things but I know you are sad. Whatever you say.” “You are a dear,” Morpheus murmurs. “But I do not feel as badly as I should. I do not really know… what I feel.” That is probably a bad reflection upon me, he thinks. The truth was that beyond the normal amount of grief that came with the sudden and untimely passing of an acquaintance, Dream felt nothing. Patrick had hardly been a grand passion. They had known each other since childhood but had been thrown together through circumstance rather than any actual attraction and they had barely anything in common. So no, he was not as sad as he should be and that was what was really making him sad. This marriage would have been a thing of duty. Their family was old, old enough indeed to have had plenty of time to rack up considerable debts. A lack of money hidden behind a fine name. Morpheus’ marriage to Patrick would have secured the estate’s future, shored up its ailing finances and kept the title very much in the family. As an omega, Morpheus would never have been able to inherit his father’s title but his children could, if they were alphas. And now, there was no marriage, no money and a very uncertain future ahead of them. Morpheus’s one duty, his one function in society, was to secure a good match and that duty lay so heavily upon his shoulders. If only Olly had stayed- but no, there was no use in dealing in ‘if onlies’. Practicalities only, and practicalities meant marriage. And soon.

#centennial husbands big bang #centennial husbands big bang 2023 #centennialhusbandsbigbang #mr sadman #centennial husbands #dreamling #the sandman #the sandman fanfiction #the sandman fanart #a thing I wrote

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