介绍买球平台

THAT thou can't never end, doth make thee great,And that thou ne'er beginnest, is thy fate.Thy song is changeful as yon starry frame,End and beginning evermore the same;And what the middle bringeth, but containsWhat was at first, and what at last remains.Thou art of joy the true and minstrel-source,From thee pours wave on wave with ceaseless force.A mouth that's aye prepared to kiss,

By Heaven she could not straightened be.Attempt to bend her, and she'll break;If left alone, more crooked grows madam;What well could be worse, my good friend, Adam?--For woman due allowance make;'Twere grievous, if thy rib should break!