Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
I saw pale kings, and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; Who cry'd'La belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!'
He played an ancient ditty, long since mute, In Provence called,'La belle dame sans mercy'.
but wotthehell wotthehell oh i should worry and fret death and I will coquette there s a dance in the old dame yet toujoursgai toujoursgai.
Nought so of love this looser dame did skill, But as a coal to kindle fleshly flame, Giving the bridle to her wanton will, And treading underfoot her honest name.
Webster's New World Dictionary of Quotations Copyright © 2010 by Chambers Harrap Publishers Ltd. All rights reserved. Published by Wiley, Hoboken, NJ. Used by arrangement with John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
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