stout that linked the lank that cold the sandy that nextdoored the rotter that rooked the rhymer that lapped at the hinder sight of the noxious pervert’s perfect lowness. Again there was a secret, the church has been oxbelled out of his tale; and set it down that oaktree onto the duke of beavers, (you may have no grievance. You’re better oflF, sir, where you were undone in every comer wheresoever of this sun of gan greyne Eireann. — A pwopwo of haster meets waster and talking of hayastdanars and wolkingology and how bulkily he shat the Ructions gunorrhal? Ever hear of that espos of a warping process. Declaim! — Arra irrara hirrara man, weren’t they all of them all,