COSTARD
No enigma, no riddle, no l'envoy; no salve in the
mail, sir: O, sir, plantain, a plain plantain! no
l'envoy, no l'envoy; no salve, sir, but a plantain!

Act 3, Scene 1
Love's Labours Lost


> -----Original Message-----
> From: Miami University LISTSERV List Testing
> [mailto:[log in to unmask]]On Behalf Of Clayton L. Hynfield
> Sent: Wednesday, November 29, 2000 11:44 AM
> To: [log in to unmask]
> Subject: Re: Oh boy
>
>
> Let me see.  [Takes the skull.]  Alas! poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio;
> a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on
> his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it
> is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know
> not how oft.  Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your
> flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not
> one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chapfallen?
>
> On Wed, Nov 29, 2000 at 11:22:38AM -0500, Micah Cooper wrote:
> > Appears before them and with solemn march
> > Goes slow and stately by them.
> > --Horatio in Hamlet.
> >
> > > -----Original Message-----
> > > From: Miami University LISTSERV List Testing
> > > [mailto:[log in to unmask]]On Behalf Of Clayton L. Hynfield
> > > Sent: Wednesday, November 29, 2000 10:29 AM
> > > To: [log in to unmask]
> > > Subject: Re: Oh boy
> > >
> > >
> > > I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.
> > >
> > >
>
>