1601

1601 Gesetzestext

Unterhaltsverpflichtete. Verwandte in gerader Linie sind verpflichtet, einander Unterhalt zu gewähren. Zu Vorschriftenteil springen und hervorheben. Bürgerliches Gesetzbuch (BGB) § Unterhaltsverpflichtete. Verwandte in gerader Linie sind verpflichtet, einander Unterhalt zu gewähren. zum Seitenanfang. Nach hundertjähriger Bauzeit wird der im Stil der Manuelinik errichtete Mosteiro dos Jerónimos (Hieronymuskloster) in Lissabon fertiggestellt. Verwandte in gerader Linie sind verpflichtet, einander Unterhalt zu gewähren. § (1) Unterhaltsberechtigt ist nur, wer außerstande ist, sich selbst zu. communication bietet zielgerichtete, bedarfsgerechte Kommunikationslösungen für Ihr Unternehmen – online und offline, nach außen und nach innen.

1601

Verwandte in gerader Linie sind verpflichtet, einander Unterhalt zu gewähren. § (1) Unterhaltsberechtigt ist nur, wer außerstande ist, sich selbst zu. Verwandtenunterhalt (§§ ff. BGB). Das deutsche Recht kennt neben der Verpflichtung zur Zahlung von Ehegattenunterhalt die Unterhaltsverpflichtung. Kommunikation zwischen Sender und Empfänger kann nur auf der Basis einer gemeinsamen Sprache stattfinden. Dies ist jedoch nur die Mindestanforderung. Written as an extract from the diary of one of Queen Elizabeth I 's ladies-in-waiting, the pamphlet purports to record a conversation between Elizabeth and several famous writers of the day. Human taste is a curious thing; delicacy is purely a matter 1601 environment and point of view. The circumstances of how came to be written have since been officially revealed by Albert Bigelow Paine in 'Mark Twain, Https://ice-art.se/hd-serien-stream/malineu.php Bibliography'and in the publication of Mark Twain's Notebook Suppose Sir Walter [Scott] instead of putting the conversation into the mouths of his characters, had allowed the characters to speak for themselves? The author was careful to speak only here 1601 who conceivably might have been in the Virgin Queen's closet and engaged kudamm komГ¶die discourse with. Every word used in was used by our bilder liebe ist rude pioneers as a part of their vocabulary—and no word was ever invented by man with obscene intent, but only as language to express his meaning. 1601 of the start ofthe Gregorian calendar was 10 days ahead of the Two girls stream serien broke calendar. In England copies of that issue were worth twenty guineas when I was there six years ago, and none to be .

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The notes to 'The Prince and the Pauper' show again how carefully Clemens examined his historical background, and his interest in these materials.

Its parodies of Tudor speech lapse sometimes into a callow satisfaction in that idiom—Mark hugely enjoys his nathlesses and beshrews and marrys.

Although was not matched by any similar sketch in his published works, it was representative of Mark Twain the man.

He was no emaciated literary tea-tosser. Bronzed and weatherbeaten son of the West, Mark was a man's man, and that significant fact is emphasized by the several phases of Mark's rich life as steamboat pilot, printer, miner, and frontier journalist.

There were typesetters there who could hurl anathemas at bad copy which would have frightened a Bengal tiger. The news editor could damn a mutilated dispatch in twenty-four languages.

Just swear at him. You can easily kill him at any range with your profanity. With Clemens it may truly be said that profanity was an art—a pyrotechnic art that entertained nations.

If he found a shirt in his drawer without a button on, he'd take every single shirt out of that drawer and throw them right out of the window, rain or shine—out of the bathroom window they'd go.

I used to look out every morning to see the snowflakes—anything white. Out they'd fly He'd swear at his razor if it didn't cut right, and Mrs.

Clemens used to send me around to the bathroom door sometimes to knock and ask him what was the matter. Well, I'd go and knock; I'd say, 'Mrs.

Clemens wants to know what's the matter. Clemens hated swearing. In his later years at Stormfield Mark loved to play his favorite billiards.

Gently, slowly, with no profane inflexions of voice, but irresistibly as though they had the headwaters of the Mississippi for their source, came this stream of unholy adjectives and choice expletives.

Mark's vocabulary ran the whole gamut of life itself. In Berlin, Mark asked Henry W. Fisher to accompany him on an exploration of the Berlin Royal Library, where the librarian, having learned that Clemens had been the Kaiser's guest at dinner, opened the secret treasure chests for the famous visitor.

One of these guarded treasures was a volume of grossly indecent verses by Voltaire, addressed to Frederick the Great.

I shall best give my feeling on this point by saying that in it he was Shakespearean. Howells confesses that he sometimes blushed over Mark Twain's letters, that there were some which, to the very day when he wrote his eulogy on his dead friend, he could not bear to reread.

Perhaps if he had not so insisted, in former years, while going over Mark Twain's proofs, upon 'having that swearing out in an instant,' he would never had had cause to suffer from his having 'loosed his bold fancy to stoop on rank suggestion.

No wonder he was always indulging in orgies of forbidden words. Consider the famous book, , that fireside conversation in the time of Queen Elizabeth: is there any obsolete verbal indecency in the English language that Mark Twain has not painstakingly resurrected and assembled there?

He, whose blood was in constant ferment and who could not contain within the narrow bonds that had been set for him the riotous exuberance of his nature, had to have an escape-valve, and he poured through it a fetid stream of meaningless obscenity—the waste of a priceless psychic material!

Of course, the writing of such a piece as raised the question of freedom of expression for the creative artist. Although little discussed at that time, it was a question which intensely interested Mark, and for a fuller appreciation of Mark's position one must keep in mind the year in which was written, There had been nothing like it before in American literature; there had appeared no Caldwells, no Faulkners, no Hemingways.

Victorian England was gushing Tennyson. In Mark Twain led the van of the debunkers, scraping the gilt off the lily in the Gilded Age.

For instance, Art is allowed as much indecent license to-day as in earlier times—but the privileges of Literature in this respect have been sharply curtailed within the past eighty or ninety years.

Fielding and Smollet could portray the beastliness of their day in the beastliest language; we have plenty of foul subjects to deal with in our day, but we are not allowed to approach them very near, even with nice and guarded forms of speech.

But not so with Art. The brush may still deal freely with any subject; however revolting or indelicate.

It makes a body ooze sarcasm at every pore, to go about Rome and Florence and see what this last generation has been doing with the statues.

These works, which had stood in innocent nakedness for ages, are all fig-leaved now. Yes, every one of them. Nobody noticed their nakedness before, perhaps; nobody can help noticing it now, the fig-leaf makes it so conspicuous.

But the comical thing about it all, is, that the fig-leaf is confined to cold and pallid marble, which would be still cold and unsuggestive without this sham and ostentatious symbol of modesty, whereas warm-blooded paintings which do really need it have in no case been furnished with it.

You enter, and proceed to that most-visited little gallery that exists in the world It isn't that she is naked and stretched out on a bed—no, it is the attitude of one of her arms and hand.

If I ventured to describe the attitude, there would be a fine howl—but there the Venus lies, for anybody to gloat over that wants to—and there she has a right to lie, for she is a work of art, and Art has its privileges.

I saw young girls stealing furtive glances at her; I saw young men gaze long and absorbedly at her; I saw aged, infirm men hang upon her charms with a pathetic interest.

How I should like to describe her—just to see what a holy indignation I could stir up in the world—just to hear the unreflecting average man deliver himself about my grossness and coarseness, and all that.

But suppose a literary artist ventured to go into a painstaking and elaborate description of one of these grisly things—the critics would skin him alive.

Well, let it go, it cannot be helped; Art retains her privileges, Literature has lost hers.

Somebody else may cipher out the whys and the wherefores and the consistencies of it—I haven't got time.

It is better than the privately circulated ribaldry and vulgarity of Eugene Field; is, indeed, an essay in a sort of primordial humor such as we find in Rabelais, or in the plays of some of the lesser stars that drew their light from Shakespeare's urn.

It is humor or fun such as one expects, let us say, from the peasants of Thomas Hardy, outside of Hardy's books. And, though it be filthy, it yet hath a splendor of mere animalism of good spirits I would say it is scatalogical rather than erotic, save for one touch toward the end.

Indeed, it seems more of Rabelais than of Boccaccio or Masuccio or Aretino—is brutally British rather than lasciviously latinate, as to the subjects, but sumptuous as regards the language.

Immediately upon first reading, John Hay, later Secretary of State, had proclaimed a masterpiece. It is better than the gross obscenities of Rabelais, and perhaps in some day to come, the taste that justified Gargantua and the Decameron will give this literary refugee shelter and setting among the more conventional writing of Mark Twain.

Human taste is a curious thing; delicacy is purely a matter of environment and point of view. I sent it anonymously to a magazine, and how the editor abused it and the sender!

Joseph H. Twichell] and read it to him. He came within an ace of killing himself with laughter for between you and me the thing was dreadfully funny.

I don't often write anything that I laugh at myself, but I can hardly think of that thing without laughing.

That old Divine said it was a piece of the finest kind of literary art—and David Gray of the Buffalo Courier said it ought to be printed privately and left behind me when I died, and then my fame as a literary artist would last.

Ben Jonson, and ye child Francis Beaumonte, which being but sixteen, hath yet turned his hand to ye doing of ye Lattin masters into our Englishe tong, with grete discretion and much applaus.

Also came with these ye famous Shaxpur. A righte straunge mixing truly of mighty blode with mean, ye more in especial since ye queenes grace was present, as likewise these following, to wit: Ye Duchess of Bilgewater, twenty-six yeres of age; ye Countesse of Granby, thirty; her doter, ye Lady Helen, fifteen; as also these two maides of honor, to-wit, ye Lady Margery Boothy, sixty-five, and ye Lady Alice Dilberry, turned seventy, she being two yeres ye queenes graces elder.

I being her maites cup-bearer, had no choice but to remaine and beholde rank forgot, and ye high holde converse wh ye low as uppon equal termes, a grete scandal did ye world heare thereof.

In ye heat of ye talk it befel yt one did breake wind, yielding an exceding mightie and distresfull stink, whereat all did laugh full sore, and then—.

Ye Queene. Meseemeth, by ye grete sound and clamour of it, it was male; yet ye belly it did lurk behinde shoulde now fall lean and flat against ye spine of him yt hath bene delivered of so stately and so waste a bulk, where as ye guts of them yt doe quiff-splitters bear, stand comely still and rounde.

Prithee let ye author confess ye offspring. Will my Lady Alice testify? Lady Alice. Nay, 'tis not I yt have broughte forth this rich o'ermastering fog, this fragrant gloom, so pray you seeke ye further.

Lady Margery. In ye good providence of God, an' I had contained this wonder, forsoothe wolde I have gi'en 'ye whole evening of my sinking life to ye dribbling of it forth, with trembling and uneasy soul, not launched it sudden in its matchless might, taking mine own life with violence, rending my weak frame like rotten rags.

It was not I, your maisty. Hath it come to pass yt a fart shall fart itself? Not such a one as this, I trow. Young Master Beaumont—but no; 'twould have wafted him to heaven like down of goose's boddy.

Wasn't you, my learned and ingenious Jonson? In sooth it was not I. Lord Bacon. Naught doth so befit ye grete as grete performance; and haply shall ye finde yt 'tis not from mediocrity this miracle hath issued.

Meantime did the foul and deadly stink pervade all places to that degree, yt never smelt I ye like, yet dare I not to leave ye presence, albeit I was like to suffocate.

Though ye sinless hosts of heaven had foretold ye coming of this most desolating breath, proclaiming it a work of uninspired man, its quaking thunders, its firmament-clogging rottenness his own achievement in due course of nature, yet had not I believed it; but had said the pit itself hath furnished forth the stink, and heaven's artillery hath shook the globe in admiration of it.

It was nothing—less than nothing, madam—I did it but to clear my nether throat; but had I come prepared, then had I delivered something worthy.

Bear with me, please your grace, till I can make amends. Then saith he, feigning that he blushed and was confused, I perceive that I am weak to-day, and cannot justice do unto my powers; and sat him down as who should say, There, it is not much yet he that hath an arse to spare, let him fellow that, an' he think he can.

By God, an' I were ye queene, I would e'en tip this swaggering braggart out o' the court, and let him air his grandeurs and break his intolerable wind before ye deaf and such as suffocation pleaseth.

Then fell they to talk about ye manners and customs of many peoples, and Master Shaxpur spake of ye boke of ye sieur Michael de Montaine, wherein was mention of ye custom of widows of Perigord to wear uppon ye headdress, in sign of widowhood, a jewel in ye similitude of a man's member wilted and limber, whereat ye queene did laugh and say widows in England doe wear prickes too, but betwixt the thighs, and not wilted neither, till coition hath done that office for them.

Master Shaxpur did likewise observe how yt ye sieur de Montaine hath also spoken of a certain emperor of such mighty prowess that he did take ten maidenheddes in ye compass of a single night, ye while his empress did entertain two and twenty lusty knights between her sheetes, yet was not satisfied; whereat ye merrie Countess Granby saith a ram is yet ye emperor's superior, sith he wil tup above a hundred yewes 'twixt sun and sun; and after, if he can have none more to shag, will masturbate until he hath enrich'd whole acres with his seed.

Then spake ye damned windmill, Sr Walter, of a people in ye uttermost parts of America, yt capulate not until they be five and thirty yeres of age, ye women being eight and twenty, and do it then but once in seven yeres.

Shall we send thee thither and preserve thy belly? Lady Helen. Have ye not a little birde about ye that stirs at hearing tell of so sweete a neste?

With such a tongue as thine, lad, thou'lt spread the ivory thighs of many a willing maide in thy good time, an' thy cod-piece be as handy as thy speeche.

Then spake ye queene of how she met old Rabelais when she was turned of fifteen, and he did tell her of a man his father knew that had a double pair of bollocks, whereon a controversy followed as concerning the most just way to spell the word, ye contention running high betwixt ye learned Bacon and ye ingenious Jonson, until at last ye old Lady Margery, wearying of it all, saith, 'Gentles, what mattereth it how ye shall spell the word?

I warrant Ye when ye use your bollocks ye shall not think of it; and my Lady Granby, be ye content; let the spelling be, ye shall enjoy the beating of them on your buttocks just the same, I trow.

Before I had gained my fourteenth year I had learnt that them that would explore a cunt stop'd not to consider the spelling o't.

Boccaccio hath a story of a priest that did beguile a maid into his cell, then knelt him in a corner to pray for grace to be rightly thankful for this tender maidenhead ye Lord had sent him; but ye abbot, spying through ye key-hole, did see a tuft of brownish hair with fair white flesh about it, wherefore when ye priest's prayer was done, his chance was gone, forasmuch as ye little maid had but ye one cunt, and that was already occupied to her content.

Twain asked Wood to print off a new edition of fifty copies now known as the "West Point edition" which came out in The skit remained unprintable by mainstream publishers until the s.

It continued to be published by small private presses. Its characterization as "pornography" was satirized by Franklin J.

Meine in the introduction to the edition. Another little-known edition [5] was printed from hand-set type by John Hecht in Chicago in In the "Lazarus Edition" of copies was published.

It consisted of newly discovered pages of a private printing from the 20's with a new, wood engraved portrait of Mark Twain, made by Barry Moser.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Retrieved August 3, — via Internet Archive. Mark Twain, culture and gender: envisioning America through Europe.

University of Georgia Press. Mark Twain. Is He Dead? Het dorp heeft een station aan spoorlijn 96 tussen Brussel en Bergen. Daarnaast heeft Ruisbroek een eigen aansluiting op de Brusselse Ring R0.

Ruisbroek ligt op de industrieas tussen Brussel en Charleroi. De club speelde in haar bestaan in totaal tien seizoenen in de nationale reeksen.

Uit Wikipedia, de vrije encyclopedie.

Buch hier: Unterhaltspflicht. Aufgrund unserer vielfältigen und langjährigen Erfahrung bringen wir für spezielle Sparten, wie den Maschinen- 1601 Anlagenbau, die Softwareentwicklung und für den kommunalen Bereich von Haus aus ein grundlegendes Verständnis der involvierten Prozesse und Technologien mit. Auf dieser Webseite werden Cookies verwendet. Diese Verpflichtung tritt nicht ein, wenn ein anderer unterhaltspflichtiger Verwandter vorhanden ist; sie tritt auch nicht ein gegen- über einem Kind, 1601 Unterhalt aus dem Stamm seines Vermögens bestritten werden kann. Die Verpflichtung fällt ganz weg, wenn die Inanspruchnahme des Verpflichteten grob unbillig wäre. Nur so ist es allen möglich, den Nutzen und den Bedarf des jeweils go here zu erkennen. Dazu zählen auch alle Organisationen, Behörden und Partner, die mit einem Unternehmen in Verbindung stehen. Gerade bei der Entwicklung von Benutzeroberflächen ist dieses Verständnis für das Schaffen eines optimales Nutzererlebnis essentiell. Watch wars rebels man baby sГјГџ Unternehmen als frГјhstГјck bei stream deutsch Ökosystem, so wird schnell klar, warum die Erforschung des Umfeldes oder auch Milieus einer Marke unbedingt notwendig ist. Franziskusschwestern …. Unerheblich ist, ob die Kinder nur bei einem Elternteil, bei beiden Eltern oder bei Dritten leben oder einen eigenen Haushalt führen. Der Einfluss Ihres Umfeldes. Kommunikation zwischen Sender und Empfänger kann nur auf der Basis einer gemeinsamen Sprache stattfinden. Dies ist jedoch nur die Mindestanforderung. Verwandtenunterhalt (§§ ff. BGB). Das deutsche Recht kennt neben der Verpflichtung zur Zahlung von Ehegattenunterhalt die Unterhaltsverpflichtung. Prütting/Wegen/Weinreich, BGB Kommentar, BGB § – Unterhaltsverpflichtete. Kommentar aus Deutsches Anwalt Office Premium. Sie haben den Artikel. men id fiet absque consensu consilij universitatis«, betonten die»Novissi- ma Statuta« Auch die Fakultätsstatuten von schrieben die Ausübung dieses​. Titel 3: Unterhaltspflicht. Untertitel 1: Allgemeine Vorschriften. § Unterhaltsverpflichtete. Verwandte in gerader Linie sind verpflichtet.

Twain asked Wood to print off a new edition of fifty copies now known as the "West Point edition" which came out in The skit remained unprintable by mainstream publishers until the s.

It continued to be published by small private presses. Its characterization as "pornography" was satirized by Franklin J. Meine in the introduction to the edition.

Another little-known edition [5] was printed from hand-set type by John Hecht in Chicago in In the "Lazarus Edition" of copies was published.

It consisted of newly discovered pages of a private printing from the 20's with a new, wood engraved portrait of Mark Twain, made by Barry Moser.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Retrieved August 3, — via Internet Archive. Mark Twain, culture and gender: envisioning America through Europe.

University of Georgia Press. Mark Twain. Is He Dead? I used to look out every morning to see the snowflakes—anything white.

Out they'd fly He'd swear at his razor if it didn't cut right, and Mrs. Clemens used to send me around to the bathroom door sometimes to knock and ask him what was the matter.

Well, I'd go and knock; I'd say, 'Mrs. Clemens wants to know what's the matter. Clemens hated swearing. In his later years at Stormfield Mark loved to play his favorite billiards.

Gently, slowly, with no profane inflexions of voice, but irresistibly as though they had the headwaters of the Mississippi for their source, came this stream of unholy adjectives and choice expletives.

Mark's vocabulary ran the whole gamut of life itself. In Berlin, Mark asked Henry W. Fisher to accompany him on an exploration of the Berlin Royal Library, where the librarian, having learned that Clemens had been the Kaiser's guest at dinner, opened the secret treasure chests for the famous visitor.

One of these guarded treasures was a volume of grossly indecent verses by Voltaire, addressed to Frederick the Great. I shall best give my feeling on this point by saying that in it he was Shakespearean.

Howells confesses that he sometimes blushed over Mark Twain's letters, that there were some which, to the very day when he wrote his eulogy on his dead friend, he could not bear to reread.

Perhaps if he had not so insisted, in former years, while going over Mark Twain's proofs, upon 'having that swearing out in an instant,' he would never had had cause to suffer from his having 'loosed his bold fancy to stoop on rank suggestion.

No wonder he was always indulging in orgies of forbidden words. Consider the famous book, , that fireside conversation in the time of Queen Elizabeth: is there any obsolete verbal indecency in the English language that Mark Twain has not painstakingly resurrected and assembled there?

He, whose blood was in constant ferment and who could not contain within the narrow bonds that had been set for him the riotous exuberance of his nature, had to have an escape-valve, and he poured through it a fetid stream of meaningless obscenity—the waste of a priceless psychic material!

Of course, the writing of such a piece as raised the question of freedom of expression for the creative artist.

Although little discussed at that time, it was a question which intensely interested Mark, and for a fuller appreciation of Mark's position one must keep in mind the year in which was written, There had been nothing like it before in American literature; there had appeared no Caldwells, no Faulkners, no Hemingways.

Victorian England was gushing Tennyson. In Mark Twain led the van of the debunkers, scraping the gilt off the lily in the Gilded Age.

For instance, Art is allowed as much indecent license to-day as in earlier times—but the privileges of Literature in this respect have been sharply curtailed within the past eighty or ninety years.

Fielding and Smollet could portray the beastliness of their day in the beastliest language; we have plenty of foul subjects to deal with in our day, but we are not allowed to approach them very near, even with nice and guarded forms of speech.

But not so with Art. The brush may still deal freely with any subject; however revolting or indelicate.

It makes a body ooze sarcasm at every pore, to go about Rome and Florence and see what this last generation has been doing with the statues.

These works, which had stood in innocent nakedness for ages, are all fig-leaved now. Yes, every one of them.

Nobody noticed their nakedness before, perhaps; nobody can help noticing it now, the fig-leaf makes it so conspicuous.

But the comical thing about it all, is, that the fig-leaf is confined to cold and pallid marble, which would be still cold and unsuggestive without this sham and ostentatious symbol of modesty, whereas warm-blooded paintings which do really need it have in no case been furnished with it.

You enter, and proceed to that most-visited little gallery that exists in the world It isn't that she is naked and stretched out on a bed—no, it is the attitude of one of her arms and hand.

If I ventured to describe the attitude, there would be a fine howl—but there the Venus lies, for anybody to gloat over that wants to—and there she has a right to lie, for she is a work of art, and Art has its privileges.

I saw young girls stealing furtive glances at her; I saw young men gaze long and absorbedly at her; I saw aged, infirm men hang upon her charms with a pathetic interest.

How I should like to describe her—just to see what a holy indignation I could stir up in the world—just to hear the unreflecting average man deliver himself about my grossness and coarseness, and all that.

But suppose a literary artist ventured to go into a painstaking and elaborate description of one of these grisly things—the critics would skin him alive.

Well, let it go, it cannot be helped; Art retains her privileges, Literature has lost hers. Somebody else may cipher out the whys and the wherefores and the consistencies of it—I haven't got time.

It is better than the privately circulated ribaldry and vulgarity of Eugene Field; is, indeed, an essay in a sort of primordial humor such as we find in Rabelais, or in the plays of some of the lesser stars that drew their light from Shakespeare's urn.

It is humor or fun such as one expects, let us say, from the peasants of Thomas Hardy, outside of Hardy's books.

And, though it be filthy, it yet hath a splendor of mere animalism of good spirits I would say it is scatalogical rather than erotic, save for one touch toward the end.

Indeed, it seems more of Rabelais than of Boccaccio or Masuccio or Aretino—is brutally British rather than lasciviously latinate, as to the subjects, but sumptuous as regards the language.

Immediately upon first reading, John Hay, later Secretary of State, had proclaimed a masterpiece. It is better than the gross obscenities of Rabelais, and perhaps in some day to come, the taste that justified Gargantua and the Decameron will give this literary refugee shelter and setting among the more conventional writing of Mark Twain.

Human taste is a curious thing; delicacy is purely a matter of environment and point of view. I sent it anonymously to a magazine, and how the editor abused it and the sender!

Joseph H. Twichell] and read it to him. He came within an ace of killing himself with laughter for between you and me the thing was dreadfully funny.

I don't often write anything that I laugh at myself, but I can hardly think of that thing without laughing. That old Divine said it was a piece of the finest kind of literary art—and David Gray of the Buffalo Courier said it ought to be printed privately and left behind me when I died, and then my fame as a literary artist would last.

Ben Jonson, and ye child Francis Beaumonte, which being but sixteen, hath yet turned his hand to ye doing of ye Lattin masters into our Englishe tong, with grete discretion and much applaus.

Also came with these ye famous Shaxpur. A righte straunge mixing truly of mighty blode with mean, ye more in especial since ye queenes grace was present, as likewise these following, to wit: Ye Duchess of Bilgewater, twenty-six yeres of age; ye Countesse of Granby, thirty; her doter, ye Lady Helen, fifteen; as also these two maides of honor, to-wit, ye Lady Margery Boothy, sixty-five, and ye Lady Alice Dilberry, turned seventy, she being two yeres ye queenes graces elder.

I being her maites cup-bearer, had no choice but to remaine and beholde rank forgot, and ye high holde converse wh ye low as uppon equal termes, a grete scandal did ye world heare thereof.

In ye heat of ye talk it befel yt one did breake wind, yielding an exceding mightie and distresfull stink, whereat all did laugh full sore, and then—.

Ye Queene. Meseemeth, by ye grete sound and clamour of it, it was male; yet ye belly it did lurk behinde shoulde now fall lean and flat against ye spine of him yt hath bene delivered of so stately and so waste a bulk, where as ye guts of them yt doe quiff-splitters bear, stand comely still and rounde.

Prithee let ye author confess ye offspring. Will my Lady Alice testify? Lady Alice. Nay, 'tis not I yt have broughte forth this rich o'ermastering fog, this fragrant gloom, so pray you seeke ye further.

Lady Margery. In ye good providence of God, an' I had contained this wonder, forsoothe wolde I have gi'en 'ye whole evening of my sinking life to ye dribbling of it forth, with trembling and uneasy soul, not launched it sudden in its matchless might, taking mine own life with violence, rending my weak frame like rotten rags.

It was not I, your maisty. Hath it come to pass yt a fart shall fart itself? Not such a one as this, I trow.

Young Master Beaumont—but no; 'twould have wafted him to heaven like down of goose's boddy. Wasn't you, my learned and ingenious Jonson?

In sooth it was not I. Lord Bacon. Naught doth so befit ye grete as grete performance; and haply shall ye finde yt 'tis not from mediocrity this miracle hath issued.

Meantime did the foul and deadly stink pervade all places to that degree, yt never smelt I ye like, yet dare I not to leave ye presence, albeit I was like to suffocate.

Though ye sinless hosts of heaven had foretold ye coming of this most desolating breath, proclaiming it a work of uninspired man, its quaking thunders, its firmament-clogging rottenness his own achievement in due course of nature, yet had not I believed it; but had said the pit itself hath furnished forth the stink, and heaven's artillery hath shook the globe in admiration of it.

It was nothing—less than nothing, madam—I did it but to clear my nether throat; but had I come prepared, then had I delivered something worthy.

Bear with me, please your grace, till I can make amends. Then saith he, feigning that he blushed and was confused, I perceive that I am weak to-day, and cannot justice do unto my powers; and sat him down as who should say, There, it is not much yet he that hath an arse to spare, let him fellow that, an' he think he can.

By God, an' I were ye queene, I would e'en tip this swaggering braggart out o' the court, and let him air his grandeurs and break his intolerable wind before ye deaf and such as suffocation pleaseth.

Then fell they to talk about ye manners and customs of many peoples, and Master Shaxpur spake of ye boke of ye sieur Michael de Montaine, wherein was mention of ye custom of widows of Perigord to wear uppon ye headdress, in sign of widowhood, a jewel in ye similitude of a man's member wilted and limber, whereat ye queene did laugh and say widows in England doe wear prickes too, but betwixt the thighs, and not wilted neither, till coition hath done that office for them.

Master Shaxpur did likewise observe how yt ye sieur de Montaine hath also spoken of a certain emperor of such mighty prowess that he did take ten maidenheddes in ye compass of a single night, ye while his empress did entertain two and twenty lusty knights between her sheetes, yet was not satisfied; whereat ye merrie Countess Granby saith a ram is yet ye emperor's superior, sith he wil tup above a hundred yewes 'twixt sun and sun; and after, if he can have none more to shag, will masturbate until he hath enrich'd whole acres with his seed.

Then spake ye damned windmill, Sr Walter, of a people in ye uttermost parts of America, yt capulate not until they be five and thirty yeres of age, ye women being eight and twenty, and do it then but once in seven yeres.

Shall we send thee thither and preserve thy belly? Lady Helen. Have ye not a little birde about ye that stirs at hearing tell of so sweete a neste?

With such a tongue as thine, lad, thou'lt spread the ivory thighs of many a willing maide in thy good time, an' thy cod-piece be as handy as thy speeche.

Then spake ye queene of how she met old Rabelais when she was turned of fifteen, and he did tell her of a man his father knew that had a double pair of bollocks, whereon a controversy followed as concerning the most just way to spell the word, ye contention running high betwixt ye learned Bacon and ye ingenious Jonson, until at last ye old Lady Margery, wearying of it all, saith, 'Gentles, what mattereth it how ye shall spell the word?

I warrant Ye when ye use your bollocks ye shall not think of it; and my Lady Granby, be ye content; let the spelling be, ye shall enjoy the beating of them on your buttocks just the same, I trow.

Before I had gained my fourteenth year I had learnt that them that would explore a cunt stop'd not to consider the spelling o't.

Boccaccio hath a story of a priest that did beguile a maid into his cell, then knelt him in a corner to pray for grace to be rightly thankful for this tender maidenhead ye Lord had sent him; but ye abbot, spying through ye key-hole, did see a tuft of brownish hair with fair white flesh about it, wherefore when ye priest's prayer was done, his chance was gone, forasmuch as ye little maid had but ye one cunt, and that was already occupied to her content.

Then conversed they of religion, and ye mightie work ye old dead Luther did doe by ye grace of God. God damn this windy ruffian and all his breed.

I wolde that hell mighte get him. They talked about ye wonderful defense which old Sr. Nicholas Throgmorton did make for himself before ye judges in ye time of Mary; which was unlucky matter to broach, sith it fetched out ye quene with a 'Pity yt he, having so much wit, had yet not enough to save his doter's maidenhedde sound for her marriage-bed.

Walter a look yt made hym wince—for she hath not forgot he was her own lover it yt olde day. There was silent uncomfortableness now; 'twas not a good turn for talk to take, sith if ye queene must find offense in a little harmless debauching, when pricks were stiff and cunts not loathe to take ye stiffness out of them, who of this company was sinless; behold, was not ye wife of Master Shaxpur four months gone with child when she stood uppe before ye altar?

Was not her Grace of Bilgewater roger'd by four lords before she had a husband? Was not ye little Lady Helen born on her mother's wedding-day?

And, beholde, were not ye Lady Alice and ye Lady Margery there, mouthing religion, whores from ye cradle? In time came they to discourse of Cervantes, and of the new painter, Rubens, that is beginning to be heard of.

For the work by Mark Twain, see Mark Twain. Calendar year. The Chronology of British History. London: Century Ltd.

Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. New Cambridge Shakespeare. Cambridge University Press. Any dating of Hamlet must be tentative.

Scholars date its writing as between and Encyclopedia Britannica.

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