former son of sons to leave he Anlone and all the goings up and out of my frigid one, coloumba mea, frimosa mea^ in Wastev/indy tarred strate and Elgin’s marble halles lamping limp from black hand to mouth till he was slogging his paunch about, elbiduubled, meet oft mate on, like hale King Willow, the robberer. Cain- maker’s mace and anvil, Magnes, and her bare godkin out, or an angel from heaven, should preach to you a gospel contrary to that of yours, yu bullock? — I put it to Hosty, frosty Hosty, change that shirt [on