Alas, there you are, my white boy from the black alcazar. You’ve grown more than a few hands taller since I saw you last! Why, you ask, do I measure your height as if you were a horse? To my equal in foolishness, it’s our common language and measure, and once you tried to put a saddle on me!
So now I see you with a furrowed brow and Vulcan’s furnace in your eyes. Your ruddy cheeks betray a trip to the countryside to take in the night aire.
Me? I haven’t told a joke in a long time, though I think you’re about to tell a story. And why do you hold me this peculiar way? There’s a word for this method. Tender I suppose. Our reunion is sweet, but something tastes like loam.
One favor lad - send that lout of a digger away. His tongue knows no certain key.
Inspired by Hamlet, Act V, Scene I by William Shake-A-Spear.