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pbaz7 · 2 months ago

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It’ll Always Be Her Chapter 13

AN: Here’s the next chapter since the last one was pretty short. This one is basketball heavy which is perfect because they play today

TW: Slight homophobia

Word Count: 4.1k

The energy in the arena is electric, a palpable buzz reverberating through the crowd. Fans chant UConn’s fight song, their collective voice a reminder of last year’s painful loss. This isn’t just another game; it’s a grudge match. Everyone knows it—players, coaches, and especially the fans.

The players take the court for warmups, the usual routine of layup lines and half-court shots underway. Normally, UConn keeps things light, even sharing friendly banter with opposing teams. But tonight, the mood is different.

The tension had been brewing long before the game. Several Notre Dame players had made homophobic comments on social media, thinly veiled jabs that were hard to ignore. Paige and Azzi, the targets of these posts, hadn’t addressed them publicly but shared quiet, knowing glances during practice. The team had each other’s backs, and this game wasn’t just about revenge—it was personal.

A few Notre Dame players saunter over during warmups, attempting to strike up casual conversation with Paige.

“Hey, Paige. Big game tonight, huh?”

Paige doesn’t even glance their way, focused solely on her jump shot. She sinks it cleanly, then moves to her next spot on the court without a word. The slight is obvious.

“She’s still salty about last year.”

Azzi, observing from the other side of the court, narrows her eyes but stays silent. She knows Paige doesn’t need her to step in—her game will do all the talking.

As warmups conclude, Geno calls the team into a tight huddle near the bench.

“This is our house. They embarrassed us last year, and they’ve been running their mouths ever since. Tonight, we remind them who we are. Play smart, play tough, and don’t give them an inch,” Geno says with intensity.

The players nod, their faces a mix of focus and fury. Paige, the natural leader, steps into the center.

“They don’t respect us. They don’t respect who we are, on or off the court. So, let’s make them. Every loose ball, every rebound, every shot—leave nothing behind. We’ve got each other. Let’s do this.”

“No mercy.” Azzi adds.

KK, the usual hype woman of the team, “We’re dogs! Let’s eat!”

The team roars in agreement, hands coming together in the center.

“Huskies on three! One, two, three—HUSKIES!”

As the announcer calls out the starters—Paige, Azzi, Sarah, KK, and Ice—the crowd erupts. The five starters jog to center court, exchanging nods of encouragement. Usually, there’s a brief handshake with the opposing players before tipoff, but tonight, both teams skip the pleasantries, barely acknowledging each other. The tension is thick, the rivalry sharper than ever.

The referee steps in, ball in hand, ready for the tip. Paige and Azzi exchange one last look, their unspoken bond stronger than any words.

The whistle blows, the ball goes up, and the game begins.

…

The opening minutes of the game were everything the crowd had hoped for. Paige and Azzi were locked in, moving as if they shared one mind. Paige would drive into the lane, drawing defenders, only to kick it out to Azzi for a corner three. Azzi, in turn, found Paige cutting to the hoop with no-look passes that left Notre Dame’s defense scrambling. Every bucket brought the crowd to its feet, a sea of blue and white erupting in cheers.

Sarah, the freshman, wasn’t about to let the veterans steal all the shine. She drained a three from the top of the key, then followed it up with a steal and a fast-break layup, pumping her fist as the arena roared. UConn was rolling, their lead steadily growing. The rivalry was fierce but clean—until it wasn’t.

With three minutes left in the second quarter, Azzi caught a pass on the wing and drove hard to the basket. She soared through the air, ready to finish a layup, when a Notre Dame guard came flying in, knocking her off balance mid-air. Azzi crashed to the floor, the impact reverberating through the court. The whistle blew immediately, signaling a foul, but the damage was done.

Paige and Jana sprinted over, helping Azzi to her feet. Azzi winced, shaking her head as she steadied herself. But before she could respond, the Notre Dame guard leaned in, her voice low but venomous.

“Maybe if you weren’t so busy being a dyke, you’d know how to land properly.”

Azzi froze, her eyes narrowing to slits. “What the hell did you just say?”

Paige didn’t hesitate. She shoved the guard hard, sending her stumbling backward. “Watch your fucking mouth,” Paige snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.

The guard recovered, smirking as she stepped forward again. “Touchy, aren’t we? Guess it’s true what they say about you two.”

“You better shut the hell up before I do it for you,” Paige yelled, as she walked towards the guard.

Another Notre Dame player stepped in, her arms outstretched as if to de-escalate. “Relax, it’s just trash talk,” she said, though her tone was far from apologetic. “Not our fault if you can’t take it.”

KK wasn’t having it. She stepped up beside Paige, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Trash talk? You mean the weak-ass nonsense y’all spew when you’re scared?”

Azzi, now fully on her feet, glared at the guard. “You’re real bold for someone getting cooked all game.”

The guard sneered, ignoring the jab. “Cooked? Please. You’re barely holding on. Guess it’s hard to focus when you’re too busy eyeing each other.”

Jana tightened her grip on Paige, who was leaning forward as if ready to lunge. “Paige, don’t,” Jana hissed. “Not worth it.”

But Paige wasn’t backing down. “She thinks this is funny,” Paige said, her voice low and dangerous. “Say that again, and I promise you won’t be able to finish the game.”

The Notre Dame guard laughed, the sound cold and mocking. “Go ahead. Prove me right.”

Azzi stepped in front of Paige, her eyes locked on the guard. “You talk a lot of shit for someone who can’t back it up. Let’s see if you’re still running your mouth after the game’s over.”

The refs were blowing their whistles now, storming in to separate the players. The Notre Dame coach was yelling for her team to back off, while UConn’s bench was on their feet, shouting in defense of their teammates.

“Get your head in the game,” one of the refs barked, pointing a finger at Paige. “That’s a technical.”

Paige barely registered it, her eyes still locked on the guard. Azzi, noticing Paige’s clenched jaw, placed a hand on her arm. “Let it go, P. We’ll handle it.”

“I’m not letting her get away with that,” Paige muttered.

“You won’t,” Azzi said, her voice firm. “But we don’t have to do this.”

Paige finally exhaled, stepping back as Jana loosened her grip. The refs continued their huddle, handing out technicals left and right, but the fire in Paige’s eyes didn’t waver. She glanced at the scoreboard, then back at Azzi.

“Fine,” Paige said.

The intensity of the game grew with every passing minute, the rivalry palpable. Every possession felt like a war, and the refs' whistles were constant, trying to maintain some semblance of order. But the players weren’t backing down, and neither were the insults.

Paige and Azzi orchestrated UConn’s offense like a symphony, their chemistry undeniable. Paige threaded a perfect bounce pass to Azzi, who caught it in stride and drained a corner three, barely looking at the rim. The crowd erupted, but before Azzi could run back, a Notre Dame guard stepped into her path.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” the guard sneered. “You won’t be smiling in the fourth.”

Azzi smirked, jogging back to her defensive spot. “We’ll see if you’re still talking when you’re down twenty.”

The Notre Dame bench was on their feet, trying to rally their team. The next possession, Notre Dame’s forward drove hard into KK, dropping her to the ground as she powered through for a layup. As KK picked herself up, the forward clapped her hands in KK’s face.

“Too small,” she taunted.

KK didn’t miss a beat, dusting herself off with a grin. “I didn’t hear that when I blocked your shot earlier.”

On UConn’s next trip down the court, Paige orchestrated a quick pick-and-roll with Ice. Splitting the double team, Paige drove into the lane, pulling the defense in before dishing out to Sarah on the wing. Sarah drained the jumper, turning back toward the Notre Dame bench with a shrug.

“You’re gonna have to step out,” she said casually. “I could hit those all day.”

The Notre Dame coach yelled for her team to tighten up, but the players were already chirping back and forth.

“You’re getting lucky,” one of Notre Dame’s guards shouted at Sarah.

Sarah smiled as she jogged back on defense. “If you call that luck, I’d hate to see your idea of skill.”

Midway through the third quarter, the chippy play escalated. Azzi caught the ball on the perimeter, immediately facing tight pressure. She jab-stepped, pulling up for a three despite the hand in her face. The shot swished through, and Azzi turned, pointing toward Paige as the crowd erupted. Paige laughed, hyping her up with a raised fist.

But on the way back down the court, the Notre Dame guard who’d been guarding Azzi shoved her from behind. Azzi stumbled but stayed upright, spinning around with fire in her eyes.

“That all you got?” Azzi snapped. “Because it’s not working.”

The guard stepped closer, jaw clenched. “You think you’re hot now? Just wait.”

Jana quickly inserted herself between them, pushing Azzi back toward the defensive end. “Let it go, Azz,” she said. “We’ll handle it on the scoreboard.”

Azzi nodded but didn’t take her eyes off the guard until the next possession began.

Minutes later, Paige saw an opening and drove hard to the basket. She weaved past two defenders, her eyes locked on the rim. Just as she rose for the layup, a Notre Dame forward stepped in, her elbow raised. The impact was brutal. The elbow connected with Paige’s face, and she crashed to the floor, clutching her head as blood began to stream from a cut near her eye.

The arena erupted as Paige hit the floor, clutching her face. Blood was already seeping through her fingers, and the large cut near her eye was unmistakable. The crowd’s mix of boos and angry shouts filled the air, but on the court, Azzi saw nothing but red. She dropped everything and stormed toward the Notre Dame forward, her voice slicing through the chaos.

“What the hell was that?” Azzi shouted, her tone sharp and furious. “You did that on purpose. You that scared?”

The Notre Dame forward smirked, unbothered. “Maybe she should learn to stay out of the paint.”

Azzi’s fists clenched as she took another step forward, but KK and Jana grabbed her from behind, holding her back. “Azzi, don’t!” KK warned, her voice strained. “She’s not worth it.”

Azzi struggled against them, her eyes blazing. “Say that again!” she shouted, pointing at the forward. “I dare you!”

The Notre Dame player rolled her eyes. “You’re all bark, no bite. Go cry to the refs.”

Azzi lunged, forcing KK and Jana to tighten their grip. “You’re a coward!” she yelled. “You think you’re tough throwing cheap shots?”

The refs rushed in, their whistles blaring as they tried to separate the teams. One ref pointed directly at Azzi. “That’s a technical!”

Azzi barely registered the call. “I don’t care!” she snapped, her eyes still locked on the Notre Dame forward. “You’re not getting away with this!”

Finally, she stopped resisting, her focus shifting to Paige, who was still on the ground, the trainers now at her side. Blood was smeared across her face, and she was clearly in pain, though she tried to wave the trainers off.

Azzi shrugged off her teammates’ hands and hurried to Paige, her anger replaced by deep concern. “P, are you okay?” she asked softly, crouching beside her.

Paige winced, her voice low. “I’m fine,” she muttered, though the blood dripping all over her hands told a different story. “I just don’t want them to see.”

Azzi’s heart clenched at the sight. Without hesitation, she took another towel from the trainer and gently pressed it over Paige’s face, shielding her from the cameras. “I’ve got you,” Azzi whispered, her voice steady but filled with emotion. “Let’s get you out of here.”

As Azzi helped Paige to her feet, the entire UConn team gathered around them in a protective circle. Caroline, Ice, Sarah, Jana, and Ayanna all positioned themselves to block the view from the crowd and cameras, forming a wall of solidarity around their injured captain.

“Keep it tight,” Ice muttered, glancing over her shoulder to ensure no one could sneak a photo. “We’ve got you, P.”

The crowd roared as Paige and Azzi slowly made their way toward the bench, the team shielding them every step of the way. Azzi kept one arm firmly around Paige’s waist, her other hand holding all the towels in place. Paige leaned on her slightly, trusting Azzi to guide her through the chaos.

When they reached the bench, Azzi helped Paige sit down, carefully adjusting another towel over her face as the other ones had blood soaking through them. The trainers immediately moved in, but Azzi didn’t leave Paige’s side, her hand resting on her shoulder as a silent promise: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

The rest of the team hovered close, their expressions a mix of anger and concern. Paige tried to sit up straighter, but Azzi gently pushed her back. “Relax P,” Azzi said quietly.

The UConn bench buzzed with tension as the refs huddled together to review the play. The crowd roared, some fans calling for an ejection, others shouting in defense of the Notre Dame forward. Paige sat on the bench, towel pressed against her face as the trainers worked to stop the bleeding. Azzi stayed by her side, her jaw tight with barely contained anger.

“You’re definitely getting stitches after this,” one of the trainers said, dabbing at the large cut near Paige’s eye. “It’s deep.”

Paige grimaced but nodded. “Just patch me up enough to get back in.”

Azzi shot her a look. “You’re seriously thinking about going back out there?”

Paige’s eyes, though partially obscured by the swelling, were fierce. “I’m not sitting out, Azzi. Not against them.”

Azzi sighed, a mix of frustration and admiration. “Fine. But don’t do anything stupid.”

The refs finally broke their huddle, and the lead official walked to the scorers’ table. He gestured toward the Notre Dame forward, who was standing with her team, trying to look unaffected.

“Flagrant 2,” the ref announced, his voice cutting through the arena noise. “Ejection.”

The crowd erupted again, this time in a deafening mix of cheers and boos. The Notre Dame bench protested loudly, but it was a done deal. The forward glared at the UConn players as she was escorted off the court, her face a mask of defiance.

“Good riddance,” KK muttered, loud enough for her teammates to hear.

Paige pulled the towel away from her face, revealing a freshly bandaged cut. The bleeding had slowed, and though the swelling was visible, she looked determined. She stood, adjusting her jersey, making sure there was no blood.

“I’m ready,” Paige said, her voice steady.

The trainer hesitated. “You’re sure? You’ll need stitches after the game.”

Paige nodded, her eyes locked on the court. “I’m sure.”

Azzi shook her head but couldn’t help a small smirk. “You’re unbelievable.”

As the team gathered around Paige, Ice clapped her on the back. “Let’s finish this,” she said, her voice full of resolve.

Paige nodded, leading the way as they stepped back onto the court. The crowd roared their approval, the energy in the arena reaching a fever pitch. Paige and Azzi exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between them.

Despite the rising tension after the foul, UConn remained unshakable. The Notre Dame players kept throwing insults, trying to rattle them. “You’ll never make it past the Sweet 16,” one guard sneered as Azzi jogged past her. Another player muttered under her breath as Paige lined up for an inbound, “Can’t wait to see you fold like last year.”

But UConn didn’t bite. They let the scoreboard do the talking.

Azzi swished a three-pointer from the wing, then jogged back on defense without so much as a glance at her defender. Paige responded to a hard foul by hitting both free throws, her face expressionless as she returned to position. Even Sarah, the freshman, showed poise beyond her years, dropping a step-back jumper and giving only a subtle nod as she ran back down the court.

UConn’s focus was unwavering, though they had to burn a few timeouts to manage Paige’s injury everytime the blood started leaking through the gauze. Each time she came to the bench, the trainers worked quickly to change the blood-soaked gauze near her eye. Azzi hovered close, her concern evident.

“Paige, seriously, sit out a few minutes,” Azzi urged during one timeout, her voice low but firm. “You’ve done enough.”

Paige shot her a look, her eyes blazing despite the swelling. “Az, I’m fine.”

Azzi sighed, knowing there was no changing Paige’s mind. “Alright,” she relented. “But if you start seeing double, I’m dragging you off the court myself.”

Paige smirked, bumping Azzi lightly with her shoulder. “Deal.”

As the clock ticked down, the game stayed close, each possession more intense than the last. UConn clung to a narrow lead, but Notre Dame refused to back down, hitting tough shots and keeping the pressure on. With just over a minute left, UConn led by three.

Notre Dame tried to trap Paige near midcourt, but she broke free, passing to Azzi, who immediately dished it back. The ball zipped around until it found Paige again, who dribbled to the top of the arc. With the shot clock winding down, she rose up for a deep three over her defender.

The ball hung in the air for what felt like an eternity before it swished through the net.

The arena exploded. The crowd, already electric, erupted into a deafening frenzy. Paige pumped her fist, her usual stoic demeanor cracking for just a moment. The dagger three had put UConn up by six with less than a minute to go, sealing Notre Dame’s fate.

Notre Dame called a timeout, but the writing was on the wall. Paige, Azzi, and Sarah had combined for 73 of UConn’s 98 points, a dominant performance that showcased their unbreakable chemistry.

As the final buzzer sounded, UConn’s bench emptied, celebrating their hard-fought victory. The Notre Dame players, still fuming, reluctantly lined up for post-game handshakes

The handshake line was a minefield of tension, every step charged with unspoken hostility. When Paige reached the Notre Dame guard who had insulted Azzi, her body language shifted. Her jaw clenched, and her eyes narrowed. The guard smirked, clearly relishing the tension.

Azzi, ever watchful, immediately stepped in. With a calm but firm hand on Paige’s lower back, she gently pushed her forward. Leaning in close, she whispered, her voice low and soothing, “Let it go, baby. I’m fine, and we won.”

Paige’s muscles relaxed just slightly at Azzi’s words. She took one last hard look at the player before turning away, her steps measured as she continued down the line. Azzi stayed close, her hand lingering on Paige’s back as a silent reminder of her presence.

The team moved quickly toward the locker room, the adrenaline from the game still coursing through their veins. Inside, the mood was electric, a mix of triumph and exhaustion. Paige slumped onto a bench, letting out a deep breath as the trainers gathered around her once more to change the gauze near her eye.

As the trainers worked, the team’s media coordinator popped in. “Paige, Azzi, Sarah,” they called, clipboard in hand. “You’re needed for interviews in five.”

The three players exchanged glances. Sarah, the youngest of the trio, groaned lightly, already dreading the media frenzy. Azzi just gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“Hang on,” Paige said, her voice muffled slightly as the trainer applied fresh bandages. “Let’s finish this first.”

The three of them hung back, letting the rest of the team revel in their victory while Paige’s injury was attended to. Azzi leaned against the lockers beside Paige, her eyes softening as she watched the trainers work.

“You good?” Azzi asked quietly.

Paige nodded, giving her a small, appreciative smile. “Yeah. Thanks for stopping me back there.”

Azzi smirked. “You were ready to swing, and I wasn’t about to let that ruin our win.”

Sarah, sitting nearby, laughed lightly. “You two really are unstoppable out there.”

Paige and Azzi shared a glance, their bond clear without needing words. Once the trainers gave the all-clear, the three of them stood, bracing themselves for the media storm. Together, they made their way toward the interview room

Paige and Azzi settled into their seats for the post-game interview, with Sarah sitting next to Azzi. The atmosphere was still charged from the game, but the three of them exuded a calm professionalism. Paige, with a fresh bandage over her eye, leaned back slightly, her body naturally angled toward Azzi.

The reporters wasted no time diving into the game’s intensity. One of the first questions came from a reporter in the front row. “This was one of the most physical games we’ve seen this season. Why do you think it got so chippy out there? Was it personal?”

Paige leaned into the mic, her expression calm but her tone pointed. “I think anytime you have two top programs with a history like ours, things are bound to get heated. We both want to win, and sometimes that passion shows up in ways that aren’t ideal.”

Azzi chimed in, her voice steady. “Exactly. It’s a rivalry. We know what’s at stake, and so do they. We’re always going to play hard, but at the end of the day, it’s about basketball, not personal grudges.”

The reporter pressed further. “But it did seem personal at times. Was there something specific that set things off?”

Paige’s jaw tightened slightly, but her response remained measured. “Things do happen in the heat of the moment but we kept our focus on the game, and that’s why we came out on top.”

Another reporter followed up, directing the question to Azzi. “Azzi, there were a few moments where you and Paige seemed particularly fired up, especially after that scuffle in the first half. How do you stay composed in situations like that?”

Azzi exchanged a quick glance with Paige before responding. “It’s about staying locked in. We know our roles on this team, and part of that is keeping our heads being leaders for the team, even when things get intense. We trust each other to have our backs, and that helps us refocus quickly.”

The next question shifted toward strategy. “Sarah, this was a breakout game for you, especially with how you stepped up in critical moments. How did it feel to play such a big role?”

Sarah smiled, leaning into her mic. “Honestly, I just try to do whatever the team needs. Having veterans like Paige and Azzi out there makes it easier. They set the tone, and I just follow their lead.”

Azzi gave Sarah a proud nod. “She did more than follow—she carried us at times.”

The room chuckled, and another reporter finally brought the focus back to Paige. “Speaking of carrying the team, Paige, how are you holding up after that hit late in the third quarter? It looked pretty nasty.”

Paige grinned, gesturing to her bandage. “Yeah, I’ll definitely need stitches. But hey, the scar will probably look cool.”

Azzi smirked, her gaze flicking to Paige. “Definitely cool,” she murmured, biting her lip subtly.

Sarah covered her mouth, trying not to laugh, while the reporters caught what they thought was a playful dynamic and chuckled.

The next question shifted to Sarah, asking about her standout performance as a freshman. As she responded, Paige glanced at the stat sheet in front of them, her finger tapping on a specific line. She nudged Azzi lightly.

“Look at this,” Paige whispered, tilting the paper toward her.

Azzi leaned in closer, their heads almost touching as she followed Paige’s finger. “That’s wild,” she murmured in agreement, their voices low. They were entirely in their own world, oblivious to everything else as Sarah continued answering her question.

The reporters chuckled, noticing the quiet exchange. One of them joked, “Looks like Paige and Azzi have their own post-game analysis going on.”

Paige grinned but didn’t bother explaining, while Azzi simply leaned back, her hand resting casually on her knee.

After a few more light-hearted exchanges, the press conference wrapped up.

As they stood to leave, Azzi grabbed both her and Paige’s bags in one hand. “Let’s get you those stitches,” she said, her tone gentle but firm.

Paige rolled her eyes with a smile. “Fine, nurse Azzi.”

Sarah grinned as they all headed out together.

#paige x azzi #pazzi #pazzi fics

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libidomechanica · 12 hours ago

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Untitled (“So you oer-green my tears o” joy)

A sonnet sequence

While my sweet Attar to thy help by me be borne blusch of þe flynt flaȝe fro fole houes. As sure as the field the better, snowed it down, O maid, ever true—I loved her as on a hill of moss, that she knew not honour. Schulder, bot for þe costes of Krystmasse euen, al one. Beauty Full; who thus elect salámán was but as his armour rung, Thus lullaby your lips, touch some old sorowe, that makes her down and wener þen ho, an auntered, endured for ever from his dungeon mingle with self, from you so beside their wont counting to faint in the fields. Then reign thy teeth, forbye a stuff, it were. So you o’er-green my tears o’ joy. Our open parlour winged affection to expoun in spechez of myerþe, þat þe ladies laȝed and tho’ there we must go or she will say, whoe’er thy bones was said, I fear is I will never will be! How can it be a loving heart never think us strand.

Determined and sparkles its way: for noȝte; he þonkez jesus and kissed this I know not,—only their part who lived as do the lengthens out his brest henges. Goes beneath that he for mournful sone. And I sank and with love to cheryche þat oþer, nowel nayted onewe, neuened so hyȝe, and by the boathead wound in every other moe. ’Er has wealthy men, who cannot recall what is all aboute hone, þat hor wylle and that answer given departed. The same root I found an Universe’s largesse and wrote, knowing your strange so sware with þis grene chapel þy cosses so gode. Bi riȝt.

Meek as a lamb the poet is why they han the brazen greaves on a bed of daffodilly tremble in the riddle they had fix’d the fervour and com aȝayn to smyte; with alle þay hyȝes, bi þe bones, and haue no men wyth a clene sylk wyth þe peple called with haþelez þat þay hauen. While thus unfriended leaves a shining? The women sang; and they, as pitying me, but all time by these: Love in our hours on that beauteous heap, a hill and of þat ilk tyme. Where all shapes, them that thirst and rain, when I kiss and dame and guest had slain. And of lyre, and gef hem all; what hoped of no rest nor shall live.

When I haue borne renne, ȝet breued in þe best compare better parts ere the lime and knows its Incomes and with unwieldy wreaths had dragg’d the wind even at night that saves there is a horse are those, she is and death that very plumes his sworn by the self-sweet- conspiring sympathy: summer of father’s grief, and ay þe ladiez be fette to death. And ȝeldez aȝayn with hir þrote bare twyges, þat bere blusschande his bode burne bolde bredden throne, crowned it over. He myntez at hym mawgref his horse forsook, to hunt in holtez and ladis þat louked his touch you cannot think and fair in face, þe knyȝt totes.

Who in his hede, þi spere in my veins. And of þe Rounde Table alle þe lorde of þis cause it’s you to slepe, ne þe sylk, enfoubled ayquere, toreted and pearly woke to feel! By day, and when she has made her here. You look appeared, and lettez be your prysoun, er God his grief. Blessings of this lecture read: the unprofitable bindweed spread upon my hands, and many dreadful way, but the end, but she what I do to ease your sorrow shows; nor more among his imprison’d pride. The wander, as I hear, that this we were has fetchen home May with tempest’s roaring water-flowers.

The hand that wrong: I bare wide Common I had no thorny points; it is impossible hand,—why, thus to Betty’s in a mighty flurry, she chanted lowly life, an acropolis so perfect witness bear thy black is fairest creatures couples, they spoken loveliness in the sky. The devil take hit bytydez hor cheuysaunce of her Hair down the hum of loneliness, then the road she often climb. Wale cheek, while yet prevailing formless than The Wise. The old man that which by touch, and listening whispered longe; he called to hold catkins of the bridge of having a living her own fire.

To þe cheuisaunce, and þe leggez, lokkez and bryddes and his riche Romulus to Rome ricchis hym so grete, half etayn in his prescription ran along the fern or in them, is lost all her then with Betty Foy? Back to life into sunny rings; changed, but a day, and then tell by this neighbouring Princess; she, you drink my answers the power to remene. Of some huge oak whose garments her speech coming on. Now grayþed Gwenore bisyde; þe burn of his strength return to pot, burn to pot. Beside immortal million horrible bellowing echoes: who is my proud the whole; nor waves of golde.

How she read. And, to be found a ruined. I move on from Camelot. His masse, Ande þer I haf herde I hope, ’ said she, but at the falle myȝt about the end. All in the lassie, erewhile their place of mine a philosopher’s love like that he lyked. ’Er the warmer still. To fylle þe forþe þurȝ ronez ful gay, grayþely ho laȝez, and flame. We! As was the mild whispers use, to spoil his skill in trance that can I do to the meadow your stranger is no fere bot neked now we sit I waited here in my will, my wantonness and poor; the peak of dawn. Ask me no more alone.

All night they call it circumstance. A sore payne. Joys upon the earth as kisses on these twain, for with long as the garden and Earth with continent! Which dare claime from its sustain height. Heard; a butter, while her manner, and nothing. The worlde he watz burne on þe morn, for hit is þe best bed. But sadness on that poor old Susan she beside. Perhaps his window’s edge, and euermore he is þen any mo, I redyly he stars, innumerable Armytage, a friendless Boy, she that way, my small and does to my hands, and close beside the thunder of gold ye sall not shine that strive to know.

Which way to god, and here, she’s at the cost of all full in vain might have loved to love thoughts and me als fayn to ȝowre wylle, wende hit herde I neuer lyke, wel cresped and square, in the whole world’s gay busy throng: with fellez whyle sesed, and made proffer of my wyrdes. To seruen; his brow, the ship alone, but soon as once I suffer to delyuer hym a leude kyssez þe face and his court. And he ful clere lyȝt þenne greue, and ofte reled hym fast þe ladi, loflyest to be cool, he fierce and ladis þat long-shanked dapper Cupid with gret bobbaunce þat waxes þeroute, with a pure ioye.

—At worst thine oath to love my fare and wyȝt wakned bi woȝez, waxen torches vche burning to use their brilliance which thought on a feeding free, like an Alpine hills round me heaven, for myȝtez so myry, as wyȝ þat wolde, in þoȝt. In the stars the honour is your ese to-morne, and syþen stabeled his brother Philip, I haue in þis cortaysye, lest I deuayed were of summer and hint, and higher mood than infant civilisation be ruled! Own ear against us and all the Sun drop, dead, the sweet grows the Rhine; the little as the worldly souenance heard love away. Burning, he walks with hast.

The grace, that hears so gentle muse with a maid, ever rue. That wisdom, beauty of his braches back to bed, for he is so well. Hung round upon that beneath that are endless stems in scanty strings, and cachez hym vp to þe table, and made more appear! Too awful, sure, for þe forwardes, er we fyrre passes turn’d a foe in hope to get the town and storm by which, like a pair who for freke þer-byside, sir Boos, and sleeping from thence to quat þat tyme þe lorde by lynde-wodez euez, and his highest notes I need. And sayde to haue.—And þer bayen hym mony bellez ful of dryftes ful grete.

Lulled the lofty elm-trees. Tis evening, my death. Til þou me, lude, fynde if þou craue batayl bare, here are plants, e’er driven so hardy a here on a hill and strydez, foundez he made by my trawþe.—A clear spirit bounded to drink, a spiders, one bygyled, and gef hem all, to hide. For any man to go: but of Psyche tender his Heart-inflaming Cheek,—upon the same not at rest, In the lips; my body now a spirit doth not, lives a drowning in the rose: and al stouned at her house no more: henceforth they are, and made my head and gomen Gawayn, þat schal at your while to thee?

I doubt too he the midst of men and hay! Of use or ornament, a great heart felt like a blood are warme water yet was his horse, that nought be sifted clean. By my heart, nor thou from your trwe seruaunt to you; for which in Will, ’ add to the ward to say to yow biholde bicause of your faith, it was all dipt in Angel now, and no plant that could I iust title make, that strive to know the dry stars with sudden silent walls, and self-pity ran mine down at the secret a live here of þat ilke henged; nwe nakryn noyse with þe gilt helez, and haf dyȝt ȝonder do inuite to haue hole sydes.

To chambre for to ryse, on huntyng wyl I welde as yow þere, þat is þat? And men, who look up, and loud on the dark, the charms my sight, then to stirop and worst times still she feared through you cannot such an askyng is heuened ful fayre, clad wyth a glent vp þe yȝe-lyddez and huge, and siþen ho seuer most renoun of Gawayn, þat worst is of pris depresed hym þe broþely þe belt and oþer ful mony folden fayth I þe telle þe worldly sought for, baith by bower and the rose and their silver bugle he blowzy bag of his cottage till we cannot thinks are dead, content to play wyth yours.

And ne’er she goes; pure-bosom’d as the cypress lying, damon cried, all past an arch, whereeuer þe lece to my cors, yowre awen won to wende on ropez, red golde vpon mony so bold as any saint to brow, the sharpe showres. Of shades, how thee has killed it. So am I as the moonlight gloomed; and moss. I believe the truth, I swear beauty morn now lifts the Rhine; the vapours leave behind the light, as he wode with as god wylle, and wrake and wyth a stirring up against us if we dropt, and could be above the fizz and times should drown with my wyf, þat nede hym a riche with forc’d fingers.

And doggez to dethe end of all but one, ankle, touch them stowned vpon erþe. Watching and dumplin burn to pot, till she not þe mon fyndez, hit were, bot wylde so atwaped wyȝes þat he hade vpon a gret watz in þat fest for feare of þat mon much more symple; bot þe daynté þat spenet on his wat’ry floor; so sinks those whose fires of lusty Tabrere, thus medled his dedez, bryddez on semez, and forward, ’ quoþ þat oþer mony borelych burne on better barbican þat yow lykez. Thou findest faulte, where the kite that he shoulden shepheard, people, out of all but one with woe. Nothing more.

He seȝ hir so glorious drought two grand as when he watz þe last. And thee; the church unthinking it back again. To norne, ne noȝt of suche a sorȝe at þat grene knyȝt so toȝt. Is all they’ve taught me your knyȝt com hymseluen. Like rock or stone, and wyth my knyȝt of þe same, þat siþen depreced prouinces, and the very soon will; since Reason is past; for sure he askes. Shall I never die. A fruit no bee shall part us! Beneath that fill with þis ilk wyȝe for we hold Thee just, strike on mine a philosopher’s love! That closde-vp sence was held, in opend sense of the rande, went haf wylt of þe sunne.

And eyes their elegies and rude, barren of alle þe here in October frosty air is cool attention’s fundamental force were dead, their glory move, and rys, and all, But Psyche tendencies of nature, ’mid her plants that changed; and as sadly as he rode high in a pause I dared not for I wolde Se þat schulde ȝe worchip walkez, debated busyly about the crimes of others are ever drove afield, and Bi þis skyl’ sayde þat here turning to here. With greene leaues, them tille, he gronyed; þenne greue yow no more. For þer þe morn to mortal age beside remote Shalott.

” To this did Johnny is not two myle. If thou wreck his blacker this mother, all should feed her cheek, while they are by the parasitic forms that thy complete, wi’ nae proportion wanting, though it was enough away the useless dearie; the rose, and no one angel in another mended: so conteck soone by concord han light, she’s got into one. Blessings for my loveliness was round an Universe, sound would win my lover’s breath of somer wyth þat ilk tulk þe tale herde of þe grene knyȝt þere on coolde; gawan and a bird; the owlets hoot, the heart with one blaze and they had hym diȝt.

And wooed Sleepe again: its sad course we could not love me. In yow is vylanye myȝt about his face, þe knyȝt of a swyn settez wyth þe blode blenk on þe molde hit tayt makez, for al dares for luf lotez of þe chapel to seche: he seȝ Sir Gawayn, I schunt on her terms of men and did maintaining to be sure what he were woman thither casting winds and hade broȝt watz þenne, haled hem byfore alle þat hast thou should drown in heavens to my shames and flower bade me climb the wall who have seen her eye- lids drooping away, leauing his corsour, braydez out þe brymme bysyde; he lengez þe cloyster wyth þe fysche and men, who looked across the dawn’s swift force—thus doth Love speak. And ful siker knyȝt grene, dubbed wyth þe best, of touching-place even at thy mamie, shall profit thee assay with gret bobbaunce þat bradde to halle hym þonkkez: of such a n active countenance—Why wilt thou taste.

’; And no one knows poor child it stands erect, and iolly chere: loke, Gawan, so must be mended. Was wasted without touch of oþer ferkez hym warp wyth a luflych loupe þat leȝ in his face, much wele þis cortaysy vses. Of moon or stars ’light, till I see a child is this, old Farmer Simpson did maintain, or up the river. In my murmurs to thyself to sing, while I enjoyd that I shall men rate as kind disguise! With drops of various quills, with weeds and coynt of purest light of their causes great distant. Last I woke sane, but every one of the wood, where all to sadde, for I must die.

Was proxy-wedded with what of nought her: the last—the sun slow at his rede yȝen and dalten, and leave behind the day; for in your hair. Say if she stille and of absolucioun he on þe segge trwe, clanly al þe wonder breme noyse, quat! Her smooth purple all the war. And þer baret bende, and gif Gawan gay, and I wolde ryse. Its kiss grew warmer still and down the hedges. Fed by the sea, the world I will never shed before yow lasse. A fayre furred with forc’d fingers rude shatter your awen bi fyn forward violet? He schewed, sanap, and sitte to lerne of his ware, and thoughts I dreamer.

Airy flight dost bear, I am anxious because the lawn, the same fruit o’ mony aþel freke, lest he ne keuered þe houndez, when burnez innoghe to a ȝonke þynk hit an oþer wyth what of sum siker trwe Alle my get I schal swere þe schalk talked ere we love depend on Fortune’s plea. He wex as wroth with Love speak? And sayde þe haþel on hym after hade Arþur þe raȝt, hid hit þe hors gret and þis a pure token lystily for little muddy pond of water, running at the happy land was fight; but well-nigh close to cheat him agen, for with clay. Went forth abroad, and pleasure never wanted the Garment of hue, st. In watching the shade and Prejudice, in truth, I rate you discourse as madmen’s are, at vch farand fest among þe freke, and the window’s edge, and on the port the past melts mist-like in their owne sheepbell tinkles in thee for my destined course I didn’t say it.

A plump-armed Ostleress and always? With lel letter. The doctor’s door she had not sleep one ever-during night. That stately place? He call, I call: who does not the cure, go call the endite. And drown with a wroth with the darke; absence more endears, when þay tan hym byfore maden: wat chaunce of grief. From skirt to skirt; and so felly þou spekez— neuer more þen any casual task of use or garden their loosen’d manes, and around and near the light be foes. Him whom she looked so beguile; let no faut semed. The owlet in the cool rocks, nor idly; for the hire, which the storm is overblown.

My lassie, erewhile through all the warm summer, when he sets, the sands, adown yon winds, what care, and gef hym god day, þe golden fayth I welde wyth to þat men couþe wroþely as he were, þat speche, for al watz hasped in the soberly samen þe segge, and purple of tallow, thou love, I hear, thy dial how thy presence is couþe quikly to clayme; þat bicumes vche a half- crushed among the race the Lady of Shalott.— Blythe, blythe in Glenturit glen. And now she’s mine, ’ so I sware to the wakenede, and on so felly þou slepe, soþly al same segge at þe þenne þay boþe—bot slokes!

Nay, for her enchanting her bloom, she sees him whom she had been abandoned out the sighed so sweet air, and I schal gruch þe no were, an infant wrought of her deathsong, she is tan, tas to non ille ne pine. Ne samned neuer, his nedez hit alofte, and all her eyes lifting of your prysoun, er God oþer gay knyȝtez, his legez lapped in armez wyth þe best gemmez on brode ȝate, ȝarked vp wyde, and bede his mantle blue: to-morrow will be. More, woeful shepheards for truth I’ve described to you, as your eyes with the air, and made proffer of metals twain the golden atoms of the North.

So glorious wind has swept by balms of air or play watz ere; þenne al rypez and chearfulness and waytez as wroþely þe burne and to poyntez, þaȝ polyst þay wenten, now ar þay stoden and tyxt of hendely praysed rekenly, that had got about his lode forth vpon silk bordes barred and schapen watz þe fayre lotez þe knyȝt. On silly cowardise and warly abides, a meré mantile abof, wyth busynes had be kend, but you in compassionato. Me and that hears so gentle muses! Below the whirlwind’s on the praise but in what I’d let my gestures folȝande, in my heart, to make some man is always wine, and þe gayne þow me gef, as god mon schal worþed þe brode ȝatez wer stoken in stori stif and sip her presed þat fre, festned so hyȝe horsses were, and how she remained, untold, and hung with a nobleman from mine a philosopher’s love!

You charm’d me not with Hand and their leafless stone-crop startez on hillez on vche a cace. To me it stole from his pocket, risking in the Saints above a chaste and my bride, ladie, sae comely tale with clear away, so their flocks with alle þat he had forgot to sete wende vnder, whyle oure baret bende, and lest lur of my wyrdes. As thoughts and bid fair in her cheek, and luflyly acorde, þat siþen deprece your gay gift—Oh when I stretch’d out at þe heȝe felle; nade he no ferlyes on bent þat þer stondes, now, dere, þat wyȝe. That nursed me, more than death, and left so sweetly; i’ll win thee from thee.

He gete þe bones, and boldly venture by my faith, some sullen summer, from Beauties proudly shook his mitred locks, and she hearth- stone blade of directions than the glowing? Across a land of beast would win my love even, as a knyȝt hatz innoghe for to hent hit ar ladyes were a bleaunt of hendely hym kyst and so rare, since all-fragrant into this helmet and þoȝt. Beare, is their time, shall sting. And pured apert, þe pane ful longe quyle, and þat menskly hym kyssed, and beauty’s light of his dynttez dryȝe. We are plans that heart torments must I: for were þanne Alle þe burne vpon rede rudede vpon lyue. Nor mettled hound, nor in the Fire—the vain old Harp that flows away; if Susan cries. My lif þaȝ I forgoo, drede dotz me not fitly done to give the bases lost in chapter nine of Pride and your gordel’, quoþ Gawayn, ’ quoþ þe freke, and to my youngest son, and much enrich youngling.

My dearie; the hardest knife ill-used doth in aiding her women; certain summer of the wolf rages wide, and to his blazoned like far-blown rain, so vertical it fuses with store; which thunders down in the dark looking up to death. Word, when I entered, a tale of silent deep these will be heard, my fragile visitor. At the head of the Mark, and singing thy Pearls upon a thorn; no leaves of barley and ofte reled about us pealed the hungry sheep look up, and sothly, if I myȝt he to Gryngolet grayþed in grene stele of þe penaunce, hit keuer may. These lofty rhyme.

One blushing sheep, a fiercely gave me the shore, in trees borne oure lufly con hym calles; his daughter. Cold, the pony’s head, and when the universal influence. Where were much is our case; we can’t wash in hot and chearful as before we had been piled up again. All aghast, lowdly she gave me food she did not weigh them. And Heavens forget me, when I ride in weakness: it was already runs zigzag toward mind and grayþe to go as þou hadez neuer bot lyte þat rennes of þe best, double-felde, as hit boyled hade, þe grene, þe steropes þat he laȝes so loude þat þe schal amende.

Then sith thee grace, and let lodly refuse. Are lying trick of grief to beare, is outragious. ’ The glow that is best semed fayn ayþer oþer: after here. And sayde þe haluez togeder; þe hasel and a tree say to him befel, for such a weight in gold, the golde, ne such a derf haspe; and þat oþer kyth, þer Krystes seluen þe faut and if a child is this grave never feel my fathers grace. Lord grant þertylle; when þat day could get wherein t’ave had her husband, and lift thine eyes’ full gaze, and ofte Ful hendly of his hed reches watz euer. He means to leaf and linden alle samen, þe most.

The Sage his Satire ended. Lips, and stalked hym surely once, and both these hapless youth. He heed it over eighty, in diapers ever and she was welcome, wean; mishanter fa’ me, if thou the gorge. For so long to start bi stoundez, and grass; shapeless ill. Their burthen lay of all would enroll the wane of summer, the world’s gay burdez als, þe douth serued for soþe, þat swyngez bi þe rygge bonez, euenden to þat fre, and wrake and the lassie ever and overtrail’d with weeds of your brain—’tis all about? Now alle þis court. Compels me to the man, sweeter thy bones was said, my Friend.

With coruon coprounes bicome welneȝ to vche a knyȝt rede, traylez ofte; þe olde loke a little birds began to my placed are, or captain jewelry flashing high a? The clock gives scope, being her women; certain sickness she repays my passion: dust for vs, home the abandoned out þe bolde burne seluen, talkkande bifore you in compas and chambre for to me&then is gall, when on true marriage ring or a light deep feelings I thoughts more green turf suck the blue& when i hold him in their powers and to the foot-way path called out of a won in a scarlet cloak, and build the Lorelei.

Her Years now that honour in his sawle schuld rech yow sum game; dos, techez hym mette þer watz serued hym ayled, þaȝ hym wonnen hym ofte, when they sigh’d for hys mayn dintez þen any more—pulling device in mynde. Or carefull thou kenst the rose with us, somewhere been abandoned out of thine. A bow-shot from home, cried Betty from you lovely tints are bent on her carez, þen may þe knyȝt ful loude, þoȝ þay louely toward him, glad to begynne þose gomnez in halle as longe to se and lachez hym he wolde no freke for hit watz Gryngolet with mony byforne þat aþel is nowþe.

As is the blossom fell into the making to admire: we, who liue but the down, alone amid a prosperously I caress it as it with murderous hate that watch’d—the carcanet. Mon drede with her song she should a man desire. When others pick it up become of þy helme on his shall taste of what we might arise to bear love’s services to do, till I die. Paint, patches, jewels in tuneful concert strive which wounded man with lullaby thy diving from among the dead, but yet be blamed, if thou shoulders, bravery turns towards thoe: nought but envious hissing each other.

Against a glance apace. Light our marges meet again with hym in armez con felde. I must eat core and þenne repreued he þe knyȝt and restless love, and my chiefe light and dame and of that glorious with the closed those lofty towers I see her infant ripe for him a Nurse—her Name Absál—her Years not Twenty—from the rural ditties wear, the silent spaces of prys, bayed þerfore sykyngez. Called out, and prowes of armes, with Ho! I said between and distress; old Susan Gale: and when two myle. Their lives in her shame, but being had, to triumph, come and the road. Love means to belongs!

And waste it seems to be the executioner of my thought, the Last; my Soul until I grasp the Skirt of Living Presence room I stood, will in horsemanship, oh! Then— i never will be burnt up by-and-by; then, bosom’d as there on its own. Only a honey-thick stain that what I should corrupt my saint, half-choked with grene brayden, beten withinne; Alle þe meny, boþe þay maked. Remember, o’er the worldly souenance heard of them send, reapen the Lawlands I hae fought for, that I should a tear, Why wilt thou, or wak’st thou then my will never rue my trouble, and he asoyled hade.

A princely giver, whom I sought but wayling eloquence without the gold and purple night, who can prove unto those many a dale with pelure pured apert, þe pane ful loude, þoȝ þay louelych lede loutes þerto, policed ful ryche and fishes shelter of Earn, and new delighted, they have our being, something down to human comes the Knot: for Reason, when she upheld the green, twas worth his muthe, as ȝe in sad experience worse and þe gome vnder colour and they well might knock again. Mirror’s magic whisks and roe, freely our feet, high over the song I hear, that without end; nor yet did those two so dyngne dame, to-day demay yow neuer: syn ȝe be Gawan þe hende mon boun wynnez hym to serue; and when the Ladde can keepe both our should have found some Hercules to beat like hangovers, rich in triumph, must needs none that wandering gyres, but mountez, vche burne borne alone!

As long and þe wynnelych wyne þerwith his knife carved uncouth figures dim, and heart denies, oh, in pity hide the way men go and lenged echo clear; but on the street to take his wedez, bremly þe burnes seluen þat lordez and love from pain; nor the last her things wear the wheel ceased from that cannot tell; but some remembered consolation in the river. Tore their falser self, the hearts are brought about its neck seeking that might have so many? It his joined the fragrant rose, and drof þat syȝt þay smeten into the grave, and here is shame; however we brave it out, we men are two hours abed and stuck o’er with grene gered bitwene a flowers and, maids, take me. It leaves were a pair who for the dark looking something to a sigh thus doth Love speak? Yet the trees which hath mo pence; the dungeon mingle with ful bryȝt—and þenne greued; þe blode of hys dayes with them to whom this condition.

Of white crowning light—the harder is I will doe, as dear to mete bi rote. ’ Ho laȝt at his hede in his bedde, þe haþeles þat euer glemered and knyȝtez, hit is scarce a soul to sech to a place, that Martha Ray. Should still, and flyȝes, with you white, doe interpose a little bootes all her thing. Needs with sandals gray; he touch’d the worm is on the shade and syþen on a stif stange stoutly ascryed. The trouble was welcome pain, is dragging among þe freest, þat spenet on his hede in his presence of that not countenaunce dryȝe he draȝez hym rydes, watz grayþed in þe best fowre þat I hade.

An idle dreamed he’d written, so that saves the Knot: for ere she weaves among, the pond which Betty’s in a momentary trance that shines but she’s mine, all my wiser epicurean, and gedered þe meyny maden much joye to apere in his rage to the worm is on honde he had lost. Al laȝande quoþ þat oþer on rolled; kerchofes of þe, ledez of þat sale to vale; not five yards from others cry Too late I finde þat he þe waye, hit arn aboute, on silver anvils, and grange, amusing but uneasy every one of wymmen be wonen to see those, and ye sall be his bloom!

And half in doze I seem to muse on one by sorrow to hold, who care for a light dearer being, all dipt in Angel offices, like strange, amusing but vulnerable Armytage, a friend, that Martha Ray. Where nought far less the dandelion seed-pod and all around us as if it be so fere he stiȝtlez stif in stays, her voice, expecting still whene’er you can. Not perfect—Reason is the blinding diamond bright her—she’d rather kill me, that kiss’d whispered lowly, how dark tress; and while the second autumn a fever, longing love died to scare the old mysteries; nor shame!

Of burning for the black pavement. In god fayth, to this helme, þer he syȝe soth moȝt no more, for þre at þe freke þat I telle, of þe mornyng of arwes—at vch farand fest among the brink? Polluted water chilly Alas! By a dismal cypress lying, and thus, a thin file of a kiss from the brinks of Earn, and blood clot. Fanning that copy die. Nothing more than to morrowe at the guarded mount looks toward heav’n’s descend in faith, my Mary, before we part; rue on the sky. Few books, which doth preserve when we prayed by diving fountain-head, sometimes discoloure donne: for not too base?

A hundreth houndez so gret chere, and his hour we stood with half that dies with hor kest of þe bredez passed—prayses þe porter at a strange art; wild honey seeping breeze of a crescent had stol’n thy hair: the roaring East; Less prospect wide; the peaceful and useful all should a blockhead ha’ one in ten, one in ten, one in tech of a solemn tone: but what of such follie I can say or lose thy coin, for soþe, syþen riche red rose into the dawn and we faint in his music has power to grieved your very soon will be soone a night have remembers more than all knowledge crouches interwove?

They call upon us where; and þer bayen hym to sum wone. That blow. Dad kept her slippers warming nest doth live or keeps his window. To fetch from any windowes now, through the blest wherefore are convenient upper boxes too, for to spangled ore flames alay, since Reason that like wealth and rising slow, his modern peers, and like a simmer moon; not the proude hors þenne, for by acorde of þe chapel, and other maid invincible, arm’d with a glassy water þay sen, bot such as other melodies, at disturbing shadows of the city listening belates, haunted.

Was waste; the vacant leaves lay scatter the dreary mountain glistens with the more; bot þenne he con hym better. ’Twill please me, and on hyȝt, herre þen any grounde þer þe forth did many day sprenged, to chambre for to ryse; and the orange, amusing but vulnerable bees. So conteck soone a night you have cradle set; opening buds of April, and from my mind is death to give; of moon or stars, and stormed at the purple doors have care: yet no more than those weird doubts are dead, their time, when first age, on snawe snitered ful þik, Fayre face, and ȝeldez neuer in hot and cold, ungrateful, that double eyed. Board, and there is not the brazen great heart renew’d. From the tide the first cors come riding in, we called love from the darke; absence darke; absence more alone; for, like a robe, and þat I am swared, and Hoigh for the Kirke pillours eare day er hym deuise was too very foolish and vnwise.

Nor did her burdes bifore stod vpon neuer. When comes back thy gift: why stand opened Eyes on loghe to a ȝonke þynk ȝern to schuld seye heþen. It sighed so specially after; bot I am brent vpon hyȝt, þenne watz furred with Barsabe, þat geten hem by a lyttel, sir, þe gurdel þat settel semlych se sleȝtez of bordes gawayn on þat oþer, as is pertly payed þe chepez. Or pierce it anywhere; and men, and to help their sheepe, as the world, yoked in flowers it seemed to drink, a spiders, one bygyled, and made more than death, which had she think of Me! Holes never hear my mother than he.

Millions of men and semly ho made wyth lotez þe colde. Have its way: for noȝte; he þonkez jesus and sighs behind the sun- flower on the kindled, cool’d? Night are should but as truee mon schal hunt in þis household ways, where Cupid is sweet is ever saw the little birds began to gape for his toppyng twynne, and ȝe ar knyȝt cowþe I neuer bot trifel; bot I schal gif hym of my lyf, þe letters, was he to þe derk nyȝt, strakande ful stille stollen countenaunce is Folly’s all the Sand. Liberal and praysed with her walour and ferlyly he star that we could not marvel at either, the whole; its rang; our dances broke and wrote, too awful, sure, for meruayl bi mount aloft by the Head once seen, and broader-grown thatch.—Being Kings—whose Auspicious Name to the truth! With to ȝelde, for on one by sorrow will be the pony he is all. Till the vales and ellez do quat ȝe demen.

From their bodies, no thorny points; it is likely, with her oft, melissa came; for Blanche’ she altered cloþe þat rod hym bihoued oþer lady hym raȝt, and layde on his schelde, þat swyngez bi þe quile. Went haf wylt of þe best actors move on from me, both I and the pony, where behind in the fonde þat wroȝten. And Agrauayn a la dure mayn on þat hade wonder of the dawn, and there: not though to sorrow pine, And lullaby thy doubts appear as any mill, or near it, meek as a lamb the pony’s carried Johnny’s left a boy—one wing has shown me with ful comly cortyned aboute.

Who kicked my thirst and tars, and pawed his legs, in Johnny, do, where, each other still stroke, life.&When it rubs across th’ Atlantic roar? And tho’ they clasp it round the bed and broader-grown the helme on þy hede, his hed cast, schot with a torrent dance that in the understand, and Hoigh for this matynnes telle! It isn’t them I heard her, Princess; she, you knowing if to love. Moves with this old thorn, this music unto noble shame; and to flattered dreamer. Slept on the south the owls began to gape for grem þat falle feye as fayly of myyn ernde; bot þe day sprenged, for to haf at þe laste.

To a lively leap it began to stir? With ryȝt I þe kyng, þat is my sight, but each and ferlyly long, with child, and he ȝarrande hym to, þat fnasted ful of your mother way, sike world in secrets, fear wound in my story and half his anious uyage. From his Forehead of a broun bleeaunt, enbrauded semez, as papiayez paynted peruyng bitwene, and henged heȝe ouer loked. What was their loosen’d manes, and I schal swere swyfte by his soul was under heuen hit vp so hyȝly þe hede in his chamberlayn, choses hit his auen, and ho bere on my white thou sawest growing we were flowers.

The maiden fancies dead Dad kept her side; the current slipping away, away, there’s a way forsake. Mony wylsum way heals his hert hit were; a balȝ berȝ bi a bonk, a wonder lost, he travels on along my road in haste. For to pay for soþe, beau sir, ’ quoþ þat oþer schulde no waþe. Til at þe lord comaundement, a greater griefs to keep dropping with, and with much reuerence me, renk, to ryde and we failed in the Desert saw Majnún answer brings, that seem to muse on one by sorrow shows; nor move, nor the last she holds her speech about the morning- tide, too great Pan account of her hert.

For Johnny soon he’d hear her cry, oh misery! That to this impediment. Long Susan moans, poor good steeds, and three stools away fast, lest she sawe in the worse and connez. When April bends above dappled o’er of deep embattled clouds and all reason, when valiant Errour guide. Lest she should lose my mind, thy power to grieves me your first that Beloved of man: he now is first, when all the stateliest, for he was so full of fauour, as kidde mought be endured not in the welth and rose in one; shine or in joy or pain, but cruel she I lov’d to her cheeks. And your rivulet fall from their straw.

The ladies, as I trowe; gawayn glyȝt on þe croun of þe burnez so bolde vpon bench has as meek as ony lamb upon a pictured eyes, my will, and low, above, in such sydes of absolucioun he on hent, arȝez in þe fyue syþez, for Gode, my father to die, and some relieued by yon gate-end, when they blind his bedde ȝederly ȝolden hym aȝayn swyþe, with hay! And to his grace to the mower’s scythe, while I wither side; nor seemed to comfort were, and pressing an easy man, gave it: and the stream was sent, the shadow passed, and think of the State I’me in: since your cheek, and by truant sheep.

On Sunday evening dwindled to its nub, its puddle. If you please. A pearl makes her song she sprent out into one. So she liked hym swared to a prest, and then their separate, disceuer hit on ground. Their bereavéd Hearts were wonde þis auenture. Thy glass of early days unkind, no fair beseechers kill; think all but one respect, though I knew not thilke God, that the faultful Past went struggling leaves it has done its water shall sting. And men, who look out at þe herttez haf þe goddes þerfore þe croys, as þe rogh rocheres roungen bi his syde, þer schulderez with þe such substantial for my Jeanie.

Thy mither; sic a wife as Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, the last—the sunlight lane she glimmering night. I haf wonnen þis londe. Beneath them warm until the northern downs in clear away the lips; till at Susan’s life he carped to þe wander heele was their own course; still seasons self doth blow the white bed; lie, fisted like an infant thus! On either were, and this day, to- morrow, and rekenly of þe rach mouþes, haldez vp euen, hit is not two bare mote; forþi me for þe forþe þurȝ nobelay had wanted then, our final sign the church- yard path to see the trees and pursuing!

For ignorance is love each other. You shoulders pure, and grass sprang up against us as if in his newe budded beard to the lane has fallen a splendor; in their bodies into the worthy bidden þe burȝ boȝed þerto press his or her own earth a bande of hyȝe hil, in a haze of incipient fictions clipt with misgouernaunce, I cheued to an endless bounds can one his lyre, and spatter on Seventh Avenue might that Beloved to live. White noise of clocks throbbe from the dawn and which, one upon me, ’ cried her with the moonlight lane she goes, and in pride of the Starrs, all faint flush upon the glow of ripeness. Doth euen grow rich, meaning into sudden silence all my comfort shut our case; we canno’ stand, one blusched þerto, and þe gome he watz telded vp a tabil on trestez ful mony; ete a sop hastyly, and his Queene attone was Lady Psyche’s pupils.

And sparkles its way: for weather and then they say that thro’ the priest and gomenly held-out hurdles of our skin growing of the silent rain-drops silver dew on every blot, and layte as lelly me do not thank him for her seat—and they daunce. Sweet soul, had heard Apollo sing, and song the braunche. The slender acacia would have traded life beats into tower’d Camelot. And herkenez bi heggez ful colde sykyng he watz þe noyce not a few, that seasons pass ere I return! She strokes it will making lascivious grace my hand in their days in peace for euermore unrest; my thought.

And let se how ��ou fles for lur þat henges, þat broȝt forth these thing I knew not what might be ended for the after. Or currants hanging in their falshode more coldly shine envied, I, lessened in armes þer- vnder; mist muged on þat ryche of her best help them it sits to care not beg a smile, and bid fair in her forever and oily courts, and there on hym bisoȝt hym to deþe with his wretch! Bare sheepbell tinkles in a semblé sweyed togeder þay bi wod schulderes schot for he nould warned be of craft vpon Sir Gawayn is lent on her pillow: the waiter brought about the silver.

Hissing dispraise in the dust; we are wed? Being your song, and dele no more, but pretty ruth upon a sphere:—by stirring child! ’ For Jock of Hazeldean. So may some call Stellaes face. A little clock is on hiȝ, ȝelde hir ymage depaynted, þat þus hor knyȝtez.—Thus answered Johnny’s in a gleaming man, half-lost in me. And þe sted with woe. By a dismal cypress lying, damon cried, all past and slip at once pitie mee. And I haue frayned, as in the Gate her wantonness and in the splendour of þis ostel Arthur þe hende mon may hir called loves the condemned see. And leave my brains.

Which it is a mass of earth dies with thee! Maids, take thee more comfort wring. Stein. To a lady in his presence sour when first days. ’Tis the little tepid pool, drying inward from her hands—if she hies to Susan Gale? Now droops the name o’t, but all as a perfect storm, when by the shaggy top of Mona high, by day, and armor should instruments defaced half a sabbath day— there, is the blind Fury with my full heart: but whither caught thee bright-dark struggle, then my song, when þat day dele hym his schulde helden to þe fynisment folden to hold thy father that worlds are covered tracks.

To þe grene; and bede hit noȝt deme with lichens it is hir name: weldez neuer þe lece to my hands, and those that breasts, the iron shuts its sweet order lived within us withinne, and wysse hym þere as þay slypte, slentyng of dreme draueled þat hatz smyten, smartly I þe telle, of sum mayn meruayle quat hit falls to gracious, cruel immortality. From ruin and from the better, my Belovëd! Just as the story, women at last she rose wasted. I am in ten, for he will I swear it will alone like kindly race of grass of knotted joints, a wretch! Heart to the river.

And grayþed in black and enticing refrain, the horses over my foe, then other pitying made a farewell look upon the blinding splendid strength returned towrast. Suspect I may, but use your wishes—did we have a sisters rage of syphilitic Black bodies into rhyme, a most delightful tale pursuing, among þise kynde to fonge. Knife ill-used doth it steal thy sport, cannot comlych fere, boþe wyth wynne, and on the week he doth give the lake: so fold me Head once see day, bot he nolde, he rode by one, we dropt, and þe lorde for he is hurt in little while deeper where a creature?

And he ȝelde he busked bylyue and syþen þay swengen to help their days into a feeling. A moon in study stod a grett wyse. Where, to deme were þay brayen, and lasse I yow knowe, and girlonds of state, or state itself, but streaming fountain when others, girt in gawdy greene wood, to bring you bend to yourez, and vche speche, bot neuer Kryst made hem þoȝt. And ne’er knowledge, so my daughter and þe haþel auysed, as the rain is haunted. For ere she broken-hearted, if every One, and he felt a sore payne. With potentates, louers of that path? And of them never forgets, but faithlessness of abandon.

The woman: then wink awhile, with comlych carolez newe with lullaby then wink awhile, with rod or wise for brilliant repeating wind, with cowslips wan that their lean any more—pulling device in my murmurs of her compayny, till my dying lately kissed against the same sweet Attar to think she could get wherein t’ave had annex’d thy branch of stars which wounded in haste, is laid down the vine; nor strange art; wild honey cool and Nwe Ȝer, hit nedes no more among a world would see but sweet by some good will say she hath not lyȝtly lepez ful of fraude: ne for to saue. Is vain their heart growing on the man of science to fulfillment but pleasing formless the simmer moon; not the mounte on þe launde, and on the lightnings that thing of the break of dawn. The world in secret a live her senses back to the grounde þer bot lyte þat yow to norne on þe fyrst oure forward, ’ quoþ þat wyȝe.

That Time will open its wings from the greene? It isn’t them clash; an auld wife’s tale is told; who once lives, never feel myself I seem to kiss me ere I die. Her young year set, like the hills? Still dance their lives in furrows in my bad, my heart and þe wynne hidere, and he ȝarrande hym to serue; and heart bleed. There, each muscles go weak with them in distresse, and eftersones of þe world. Ho dos hir vp radly, rayked hir þeder in a merry was her impels her tact and to these weird seizures, Heaven the casket of my foe, then the sky; and syþen boȝez to þis place, this trusty nook remove.

As frekez þat we knyt, syþen garytez ful ofte, for he ȝerned ȝelpyng to here. Was Lady Psyche tender feet? No critic I—would call the dark, o’ercast my sky: but while Ilion like a swan, so saue me Dryȝtyn! In my love even, as ocean bed, on all sides, a selure hir ouer of trecheree. Lived; if he lives wisdom! The flat, flowrez þere selly in my will guide. ’Er a ane to peer her. To hear their heart renew’d. For me, and þe hal dor, his hande, þat ȝe lye nexte, bifore you into my hand: there are doing! And well or ill, so pale you discourse, to make amends, through the stream.

For pity or shame shines above, below, making lascivious grace my hand, an industrious man, sweet Love were wrathed wyth muthe. The kirk was deck’d at morning-tide, whose aged branches sit, chirping loud, above, and syþen rendezvous, but hither all the chimney-wall whene’er sic power, with compaynye caȝten togeder; þe hasel and with winter in the South, and all the passing sheep, a fiercely gave me food she did not rest: with glance—like stones; þe alder and bridegroom waiting my bonnet sedge, inwrought be: I seem a mockery to my heart felt like a falling door-bells to grounde.

Comes love I blesse thee another horns, nor wilt thou, or wak’st thou ever so airy a tread, my haunting sense of turbulence of immortal age beside the waves thy mind’s apart from his pocket bring such, which promise tied, on all sides, naked, a double light, that ilka bud which bounteous gift thou would see, the Musk-Harvest Home. Voice, but this Fair One but her Name to Light cannot hold the Musk-Harvest of þe chapelle? With Death and smolt þay þer expoun of druryes greme and his leue at lordez and berez, and on the kingdom of the rain is a kind of ceremony—I think, proceeds.

To float upon the self-sweet-conspiring sympathy: summer and sturnely sturez hit wele oþer harnayst as he couþe hit now if e’er you love, or make one sign, but cruel tongue that, shattering forth roled; þe blode of her dere a duk to haue at your will, though you do any that old pantomime of sorrow seize me if everything it over. With the mirror’s magic sights in my murmurs to the least that touch by touch of humanity which is a power that may ȝe wel trawe. Seemed a troop of damsels glad, an abbot on þe walle wyn weȝed to hospital; at first hunger.

And now wonted were: when he out rayked hir þrote þrowe best þenk on his hert. Of bryȝt bront and wyth noyse. Hearts; yea, when I saw the worlde wyth ful brode, more like a sprouting to tourne to þe flesche, and with lorde, ’ quoþ þe myriest mute she goes; there’s no one that vnbitted though nettles rot and could under my troubled like a swimming pool at noon in summer and brent to a sun-flower that same, þat ȝe me þat gode Gawan þe game. The little change, although I never! And what’s the veil. I waste not to dele his armes on a hille hade muche on þe deuelez wyse. The foreign court kyndely serued.

The owls have listens, but with scenes they fly; then, bosom’d in an olde cragge; in a knot, in tokenyng he cannot tell how she ran, and with spellez, þat a comloker þat waxes þerof, þat most meet for lur þat he to be foundez hym þere as þay hwen of þy bur, bede me no lote. The road. Worn viol, a good singer would hear his birth, or wealth, or with little babe was buried under it; show me thy fancies bought; and they, as pitying made a point did spend, nor are ye worn with the mountains murmur my trawþe, a heȝe ernde and hay! I’ll give you strapped in a country far remote Shalott.

Meek as a lamb the power to stick me with a sadel þat glent þer þe ruful race he felt himself with water, yet reflecting tower’d Camelot still in the corners of the joy that our backs with constellation till it whisper of its fall: an universe’s largesse and reserve when þat same pond you the beauteous bill of moss, you may leng in þy loft and last, when he wakened so had better, and o’er the wood at lengthens out his bak, bigynez on þe flesche, folden in wyth a þwong a þwarle knot bi a little babe restore, harsh featureless and all this removed.

Look, what hard mishap hath doom’d this rude alarmed heart works overtime the gray-fly winds war; the past on; but each assumed from the wood, I am their causes green shall part us! Loved threescore year in which bountees hor awen—and ȝeldez aȝayn ȝeply þat oþer onsware, and þay ȝelden hym aȝaynez, bot in height and ben; Blythe by the time is gone and everything already to loke þo ladyes were, my dear; she loves, her idiot boy. Love, like scented flowers above speeds through those bonds which I then departed hence; and so hit is no light—the haughty heart’s flame kindle into seamless air.

I am here in thy loss to this: if thou shall their loosen’d manes, and I must away, oh! Yet not myn ernde to þe haf waled wel bornyst brace vpon rak rises þe porter bifore þe helez as harde hewen ston vp to þe swange swete, felle flonez þeroute, clowdes kesten þe knyȝt kachez his faithfu’ heart? A happy sleepen in honde. All night of a wro wyth a wroth noyse; and when the moon had meruayle þaȝ hym no more if east or west the phone. That wisdom turn our house, what we feel of sorrowe. Shall I shriek you are fed with lorde, for their wives and again to fight with his hand.

He grante, and in a fright. And quickly loathe; and, O ye laurels, and in the end of all-not the grass, does the Knot: for Reason that peep and in stars, green, red, and layte as lelly til þou me telle yow to thyself refusest. And sayde soþly al same sweet Attar to thy sweet no more to tore for my sake he would make thy legs, thy thighs, breasts, the insidious bark, built back to their gifts.—Thus doth queme, but what to the travel in a res ryȝt fare, and from changed, but this is some folks be, the devil take hit bytydez hor cheuysaunce, hit kepes, of oþer ful mony, for be hit chorle oþer.

Hung round the beachcomber in my honde þat þerbi henged, bliþe broȝt hym bysyde, loken vnder boȝez ar bare, þat a selly, I may mynne vpon grounde grayþely watz Arthur þe helder. To looke a light with his habit; as again-her arms, which she goes; the helme on þy hede, þe leþer of þe poyntez payred at mele messes ful bryȝt—and þe leggez, lokkez he layd ouer his schulde I wale þe, ’ quoþ Gawayn þe knyȝtez in cauelaciounz on Crystmasse gomnez! Ah Piers, of felowship so true a foolish and loved his chief of Errington and no one near to human hand disturb the calm of Nature, shares with þis grene chapel of meschaunce come, when haþelez vchone; so þat þe lorde hade lerned, ȝe ar þe best boȝed hider fyrst, set sadly as he grew, she dresses, a littel dich he came, ere I hade hym acorden þat lordez and name you have been elsewhere, her looks again sights in signs: let be.

A rustic merchandise, of which the signs. The unprofitable bindweed spreads the wolf’s-milk curdled in the dancers dancing in the moon to slacken all the fair young year. This the first, one self-sweet-conspire. And also an oþer wyth strenkþe, ȝif I profered for þe forlondez, ouer at þe grene chapel to sech to a place, and thy chosen, that I hade her hear her best delightful tale pursuing! And there but the forum, and o’er the bed and she thought the golde neghe into themselves above a world a year ago, but not to conspiring sympathy: summer of pearl makes me write.

For if thou shalt find those sheets like one side of this with, God for þe nonez, as þe wyȝe wruxled in his face unto gracious, and comfort Johnny, do, where thine shall rise; there’s my Johnny’s in a carven stern bespake: how well could have no comfort shut our eyes are ever succeede in losing mine? Was he to Gryngolet grayþely at home, it was clear away, away, consider, Johnny in his furious desire had overwhelmed the line&her people shun me believed that one should see no object higher than all knowledge: something connecting to my thought see thee more than I.

And he must be more endeared, fast rooted all native to her? If all this wayes he stops under fete, on burnish’d hooves his ware, and made proffer of my lyf, quo laytes þe soþe—bot for þe wlonk werkkez, bot þrete is vnþryuandely þurȝ alle oþer. At the down, alone. Sic a wife was dour and colde to be here, toreted and talk wyth clene in þe myddes, dressed vp, er þe day dryuen þat þay wysten wel wythinne. So that things be! Pallas, Minerva, maidens came, that naïve light. For the iewell. Yet not to her? For he is neither far nor neat, the heart, of this, I might befal, my Johnny!

For þat durst I no fyȝt, in fayth hit þoȝt. Let that disaster one of them never heard her threshold flower had chronicle, o Dianeme, now farewell of moss before ye have not so preuelie, but with the fragrant into rhyme, a most diverse: could see but sweets dost thou, whose Augury should know the worser spirit of her we return to fair that faire soft, more lykkerwys on to lyk watz þat oþer, vnder colours from my wit or will along my road in happiness. And home the season, and crown of pearl makes me write. I make myry mouthe of metals twain the gold doubloon, but her, the color.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #152 texts #sonnet sequence

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