| Where now prithee is divine Eryx, thy master of fruitless fame? |
| Prithee, avert thine brain, for this Canadian-Irish production does dance a merry hornpipe upon the very phizog of historical accuracy. |
| Let us have no more of your vapours 'twixt this and day-break, prithee. |
| Prithee, young one, who art thou, and what has ailed thy mother to bedizen thee in this strange fashion? |
| Then prithee, good knight, stand on thy head by yonder tree. |
| Slay not that my musk-deer fawnling, Hunter! Prithee, have thou shame Of her night-black eye nor bind her With thy lasso long and strait. |
