Come all hendecasyllables whatever, Wheresoever ye house you, all whatever. I the game of an impudent adultress? She refuse to return to me the tablets5 Where you syllable? O ye can't be silent. Up, have after her, ask renunciation. Would ye know her? a woman, you shall eye her Strutting loftily, whiles she laughs a loud laugh Vast and vulgar, a Gaulish hound beseeming. Form your circle about her, ask her, urge her. 'Hark, adulteress, hand the note-book over. Hark, the note-book, adultress, hand it over.' What? you scorn us? O ugly filth, detested Trull, whatever is all abomination. Nay then, louder. Enough as yet it is not. If this only remains, perhaps the dog-like Face may colour, a bra**y blush may yield us. Swell your voices in higher harsher yellings, 'Hark, adulteress, hand the note-book over; Hark, the note-book; adultress, hand it over.' Look, she moves not at all: we waste the moments. Change your quality, try another issue. Such composure a sweeter air may alter. 'Pure and virtuous, hand the note-book over.'