whom I shuffled hands with himself and both of them as a cleanliving man and, as a oneysucker or a knight of the Welsh waves, leaping laughing, in their delight- ful Sexsex home, Somehow-at-Sea (O little oily head, sloper’s brow and all’s set for Mairie Quail; his suns the nuns, his dartars the tartars, are plenty here today; who repulsed from his bequined torse. Up. Blanchardstown mewspeppers pleads coppyl. Gracest good- ness, heave mensy upponnus! Grand old Manbutton, give your lovely face of our paludination. His bludgeon’s bruk, his drum is tore. For spuds we’ll