| In-Text |
What are we but Tenants at will in this Clay Farm? the foundation of all the building is a small substance, alwayes kept cold by an intercourse of air, the pillar is but a little breath, the strength some few bones tied together with dry strings, howsoever we piece and patch this poor cottage, it will at last fall into the Lords hands, and we must give surrender onely in this tenour, Few ] and evill have the dayes of my life been. |
What Are we but Tenants At will in this Clay Farm? the Foundation of all the building is a small substance, always kept cold by an intercourse of air, the pillar is but a little breath, the strength Some few bones tied together with dry strings, howsoever we piece and patch this poor cottage, it will At last fallen into the lords hands, and we must give surrender only in this tenor, Few ] and evil have the days of my life been. |
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