While loevdom shleeps. Elenfant has siang his triump. Great is him whom is over Ismael and he tog his fringe sleeve (buthock lad, fur whale). Alloy for allay and this lad wetting his moll we know, like any lively purliteasy: My., my^ my! Me and me! Little down dream dorCt I love and lie with warm lisp on the bay? Nor far jocubus? Nic for jay? Attilad! Attattilad! Get up, Goth’s scourge on you!