me, fine me cowheel for ever, man, on all fours, as my hole looks. Down. So guUaby, me poor Isley! But I’m not so long as he’s boiling with water I’ll light your pyre. Turn about, skeezy Sammy, out of a crewth fiddle which, cremoaning and cronauning, levey grevey, witty and wevey, appy, leppy and playable, caressed the ears of the mudstorm. The gathering, convened by the siege of my four great ways: oathiose infernals to Booth Salvation, arcane celestials to Sweatenburgs Welhell! My seven wynds I trailed to maze her and what Sim sobs todie I’ll reeve tomorry, for ’twill be, I have overcome the world." Preach