[24]
robbed me of enjoyment when I was upon the point of tasting it.—
—Pugh!—'tis nothing but a thistle—never mind it—thou shalt have a better supper at night.—
—Banish'd from my country—my friends—from thee.—
Poor devil, thou'rt sadly tired with thy journey!—come—get on a little faster—there's nothing in my cloak-bag but two shirts—a crimson-sattin pair of breeches, and a fringed—Dear Julia!
—But why to Frankfort?—is it that there is a hand unfelt, which secretly is conducting me through these meanders and unsuspected tracts!—
—Stumbling!
