Fernando: As I am sometimes an upstart, but never so kindly kingsome as to become kindling as if and whence our two souls grow, as I have yet to undertow the damage done by a Shady Aftermath....
Ferdinand: (Talking to his Advisor Miguel) (at his spanish castle)
You vile creature...you are ever so radient as my son's homage is indignitantly ingradient to the umpteinth degree. (shuffling papers) You are ever so classy as , my son and I are sassy, or maybe that is just me. Used to the brassy chromed as a tarheel as we all spin fate's wheel like situating Cain and Abel's abatement. Spun around the eden of bad advice's teachings, as masterful as giving glee to a serendipidous plea, as much for my own chastity containing eloquent inclination. My own disasterous approbation deserves their on dilapidation as I will not let time fool's encompass bad insinuation across my four borders. Nestled in my bosom I always tell the tale truthsome as insisting upon my own snit.
Angelica: (back in her village) Oh you romeo...where for art thou! As he is a demigod of distance...as now I can see through the fogs of a smoggy doggy's imprisonment. Presumptious are the hooligans, so enticed to portal the foll again, beleaugered by the irons holding them at bay. Oh to enter the forray, nipping at a clutter of a maiden churning her butter and breeding to the string of flat flattering...held within the momentary shuddering of a confiscated mothering. Dripping from your sarcasm's udder chide indoctrinated to the equator of rebuke.
Fernando: (Waking up out in the Middle of a Cow Field)
Butter of that kind is made by the laborious grind and then made idle by such snide.
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