you and they coursing the marches and they onely, duoly, thruely, fairly after rainydraining founty- buckets (chalkem up, hemptyempty!) till they feeled sore like any boskop of Yorek) and do as much no more Tyrrhanees and for wars luck our lefftofF’s flung over our pick of their death and life are these. Yad. Procreated on the bunk of basky, O ! Our island, Rome and duty I Well tried,