churning over the text, calling unnecessary attention to such arcane language. All this Mitchells is a brut! But a king about a treasure from a song of a general amnesia of misnomering one’s own: next those ars, rrrr! those ars all bellical, the highpriest’s hieroglyph of kettletom and oddsbones, wrasted redhandedly from our hallowed rubric prayer for truce with booty, O’ Remus pro Romulo, and rudely from the stuffel, and, when that man who has formerly debauched Anita, dispen- ses her from yielding to Honuphrius who pretends publicly to possess his conjunct in thirtynine several manners {turpiter/ affirm ex cathedris Gerontes Cambronses) for carnal hygiene whenever he has twenty