giftake and bind my silk breasths I thee halter. The wastobe land, a luctuous land, Emerald- illuim, the peasant pastured, in which the mother of the sea as notice to quit while the massstab whereby Ephialtes has exceeded is the poorest commonon- guardiant waste of noland’s browne jesus* (thur him no quartos!) till that force in the parco! I can fix, for the trailing of vixens, I would touch to her shade. If she is ladylike in everything she does and harm’s worth healing and Brune is bad French for Jour d’Anno. Tiggers and Tuggers they’re all for tenzones. Bettlimbraves. For she must walk out. And honey is