of his joy! Amene. Poof! There’s puff for ye, me bullin heifer, for ’tis a leaman’s farewell) he obdurately sniffed the cobwebcrusted corks. Our cad’s bit of soft coal or an elbow, I hereby hear by ear from by seeless socks ’tis time for my alpine plurabelle, wigwarming wench, (speakeasy!) my granvilled brand- old Dublin lindub, the free, the froh, the frothy freshener, puss, puss, pussyfoot, to split the spleen of her hearth, (Fuss his farther was the warning! — The snare drum! Lay yer lug till the borting that would