moulten

I cannot choose . Sometime he angers me
With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant ,
Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies ,
And of a dragon and a finless fish ,
A clip-winged griffin and a moulten raven ,
A couching lion and a ramping cat ,
And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff
As puts me from my faith . I tell you what —
He held me last night at least nine hours
In reckoning up the several devils’ names
That were his lackeys . I cried Hum , and Well , go
to ,
But marked him not a word . O , he is as tedious
As a tired horse , a railing wife ,
Worse than a smoky house . I had rather live
With cheese and garlic in a windmill , far ,
Than feed on cates and have him talk to me
In any summer house in Christendom .