Be not offended.
I speak not as in absolute fear of you.
I think our country sinks beneath the yoke;
It weeps, it bleeds, and each new day a gash
Is added to her wounds. I think withal
There would be hands uplifted in my right;
And here from gracious England have I offer
Of goodly thousands. But, for all this, when I
Shall tread upon the tyrant's head
Or wear it on my sword, yet my poor country
Shall have more vices than it had before,
More suffer and more sundry ways than ever,
By him that shall succeed.
1 comment:
what's that from? well, i miss you too dearie. lots lots lots! but in only a few short weeks i will be seeing you! YAYAYAYAYAYAYA! don't forget to bring my indi films with ok? chuck and take offs. t'would be good. i love you dear sister! see you soon!
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