The gods give to mortals not everything at the same time.
down from his brow she ran his curls like thick hyacinth clusters full of blooms
And would'st thou evil for his good repay?
Blame the guy who doesn't speak Engish.
How delicate her feet who shuns the ground, Stepping a-tiptoe on the heads of men.
When you're in my house you shall do as I do and believe who I believe in. So Bart butter your bacon.