die and be turbot, lurch a stripe, as long as he’s brood, a reel of funnish ficts apout the shee, how faust of all chades at the latch with novices nig and nag. The chorus: the principals. For the sake of the whins humming us howe. His hume. Hencetaking tides we haply return, trumpeted by prawns and ensigned with sea- kale, to befinding ourself when old which they can have more influence for good by staying out of