b******s grief

I beg o' thee for thine spite I beg o' thee for thine voucher. Distraught remedies mine tattered will seek this night. Put to my lips the stone flask and let the wine drip forth awakening this vessel with divine pestilence. Then I beg o' thee to bind mine f*****g hands to the stable where I could be a martyr and pass a b*****d, turning heads to cynical oath as my vengeance is wrought in my throat. I beg thee for f*****g deliverence.