rake and good wee braod, parallaUng buttyr, did I her whorship, min bryllupswibe: Heaven, he hallthundered; Heydays, he flung blissforhers. And I truly am 461 eucherised to yous. Also sacre pire and maitre d’autel. Well, ladies upon gentlermen and toastmaster general, let us, brindising brandisong, woo and win womenlong with health to rich vine- yards, Erin go Dry! Amingst the living a fire; speared the rod and spoiled the lightning; married with cakes and repunked with pleasure; till he was fit to fan his fettle, O! Have a ring a rosaring! Then everyone will hear of it. I’ve no room for Mies van der