Taum and raven, thy eyes shalt flimmer and soul sile away; a wemmed limb, thy cheer sered, last kent one syed May. Thy treen, plumed vessel sam thy humours hele, thy wits eaten, one moon in gloom, sans song or seel, in web or fream we'll meet and greet, arain or fish I wish, but which? In lectual lint mould thralls and spells of a dead shite witch