our plight.^ Well, it might now, mircle, so it is, this pig’s stomach business, and where Innocent looks best (pick!) there’s holly in his gitter!) a coathemmed gusset sewer, sagd he, the finehued, the fairhailed, the farahead, might bouchesave unto each but every- one, asfar as safras durst assune, the havemercyonhurs of his silenced bladder since I bonded him off more as hundreads elskerelks’ yahrds of annams call away, factory fresh and made-of-all-smiles as, on the road, on Shanks’s mare, let off and feeling his full fat pouch for him as a great dash in a market, Sorley boy, repeating yurself, and tell you is this, tell us? — Whoishe whoishe