Another quiz from your’s truly
i don’t appreciate how oddly specific this is
Elizabethan Peasant 1: Look yonder! Someone has writ upon that ceiling that thou art most easily gulled!
Elizabethan Peasant 2: More fool they, for I cannot read.
Elizabethan Peasant 1: *sighing, lowers his visage unto his palm*
Elizabethan Peasant 1: Lo, hast thou learned to read?
Elizabethan Peasant 2: Verily, and to compose as well.
Elizabethan Peasant 1: With haste, then, how is the word “i cup” composed?
Elizabethan Peasant 1: what ho, I know a sporting jest! What art thou when thou art a peasant and art occupied in a privy?
Elizabethan Peasant 2: I wist not, but certain am I that thou shalt tell me speedily.
Elizabethan Peasant 1: Most verily, thou art a peon.
Elizabethan Child: Father, I have not yet broken fast and am filled with pangs of hunger.
Elizabethan Father: Hail, Filled With Pangs Of Hunger! Mine own name is Wybert.
Elizabethan Scholar 1: Alack, I have in my purse but sixty-nine pence.
Elizabethan Scholar 2: Lusty fellow, knowst thou well what such a sum portends!
Elizabethan Scholar 1: I…I have not sufficient to sup on fowl.
Elizabethan Scholar 1: Mine name is verily Micheal with a ‘b’, and I hast been afraid of insects mine entire life.
Elizabethan Scholar 2: Cease cease cease. Wither is the bee?
Elizabethan Scholar 1: Thither is a bee?
Elizabethan husband: Wife, ho! Bring forth my keys!
Elizabethan wife: [throws a writing slope before him]
Elizabethan husband: My keys, my keys! What, hast thou not ears?
Elizabethan wife: I thought thou said writing slope.
Elizabethan husband: Devil take thee; why would I say writing slope?
Elizabethan daughter: Harken father! Tis the valorous kush!
Elizabethan father: Thou art in the petty market; how valorous mayest it be?
Elizabethan Peasant: Good morrow, my fine fellows! Thou mayest call me Jared, I has’t seen 19 years upon the Good Lord’s green earth, but I am melancholic, for I must admit it was not my privilege to learn to decipher script.
Elizabethan Scholar: whosoever didst throw that crumpled parchment: thine mother is naught but a poxy trollop
I didn’t realize Mark Twain has no taste
If he hated the book so much why would he read it more than once?