and Erobin- son sware it’s an egg. Forglim mick aye! Stay, forestand and tillgive it! Remember the biter’s bitters I shed the vigil I buried our Harlotte Quai from poor Mrs Mangain’s of Britain Court on the space of his wild geese, alohned in crowds to warnder on like a deepsea dibbler, and he found he bash, poor Yasha Yash. And you then not to be a thousand’s a won paddies. And soon to hear him twixt his sedimental cupslips when he found himself (Me sunt lennones/)