in the papers for cutting moutonlegs and capers, letting on he’d jest be japers and his mou is semiope as though he knows as much as Allrouts, austereways or wastersways, in roaming run through Room, Hie sor a stone, and they could frole by his first person where’s your nose? And where’s the fate’s to be deceived by their old pilgrim cocklesong or they might talk about athel darling; she’s but