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Where's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher!
Ay, boy, ready
When good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing.
Away with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony, and Potpan!
I know not, sir.
What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight?
Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.
If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
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