Nope..half & half(lazy/crazy) plus i come from old money.[yea yea,i know..but you'd do the same thang Aydin,so keep the insults to a minimum]
Was that an apology muffy?
Cuz i could have sworn i said i would except one..oh,i see.
Not bitch enough to admit you like the attention?
What's that song by garbage stupid girl ...how do the lyrics go again?
'Tis almost morning, I would have thee gone—
And yet no farther than a wan-ton's bird,
That lets it hop a little from his hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
And with a silken thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
I would I were thy bird.
Sweet, so would I,
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say good night till it be morrow. [Exit above]
Mounsieur Cobweb, good mounsieur, get you your
weapons in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped
humble-bee on the top of a thistle; and, good
mounsieur, bring me the honey-bag. Do not fret
yourself too much in the action, mounsieur; and,
good mounsieur, have a care the honey-bag break not;
I would be loath to have you overflown with a
honey-bag, signior. Where's Mounsieur Mustardseed?
Give me your neaf, Mounsieur Mustardseed. Pray you,
leave your courtesy, good mounsieur.
What's your Will?
Nothing, good mounsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb
to scratch. I must to the barber's, monsieur; for
methinks I am marvellous hairy about the face; and I
am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me,
I must scratch.
Ven, Himeneo, ven donde te espera
con ojos y sin alas un Cupido,
cuyo cabello intonso dulcemente
niega el vello que el vulto ha colorido:
el vello, flores de su primavera,
y rayos el cabello de su frente.
Niño amó la que adora adolescente,
villana Psiques, ninfa labradora
de la tostada Ceres. Esta, ahora,
en los inciertos de su edad segunda
crepúsculos, vincule tu coyunda
a su ardiente deseo.
Ven, Himeneo, ven; ven, Himeneo.
-Luis de Góngora
Come Hymen come, for here to thee we bring
With eyes but without wings a god of love,
Whose unshorn locks that sweetly hang above
Conceal the down upon his visage fair;
His down the flowers of a youthful spring,
And sunbeams from his forehead are his hair.
A boy he loved her, but adores today
This Psyche of the village, nymph to wage
For parchèd Ceres. Join her now, we pray,
Who in the twilight of her second age
Uncertain is, join in thy yoke to stay
At his desire sincere,
Come Hymen, Hymen here.