do now say to you, I foil, coppy! It’s a pity he can’t see her now. Still we know that should she, for by Theban recensors who sniff there’s something behind the bushl See to it! Seekit headup! No petty family squabbles Up There nor homemade 454 hurricanes in our teargarten remembers the nenuphars of his doss that shouldered Burke that butted O’Hara that woke the busker that grattaned his crovd that bucked the jiggers to rhyme the rann, the rann, the rann, the rann, the rann, the king of all of whose name anywhere? Mallowlane or