介绍爱吾ios破解游戏官网

For, as my book grows apace, all of my sequins I lose.-----Is' thou'rt in earnest, no longer delay, but render me happy;Art thou in jest? Ah, sweet love! time for all jesting is past.-----ART thou, then, vex'd at my silence? What shall I speak of? Thou markest

Precede Thy thunders on their way;Yet, Lord, Thy messengers revere