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[[TOC]] [[Page 10]] [[Page 12]] The [[three of crows]] have flapped it [[southenly]], [[kraaking]] of [[de_baccle|de]] [[de_baccle|baccle]] to the [[kvarters]] of that sky whence [[triboos]] answer; [[Wail]], 'tis well! She [[niver]] comes out when [[Thon's]] [[on shower]] or when Thon's [[flash]] with his [[Nixy girls]] or when Thon's [[blowing]] [[toomcracks|toom-]] [[toomcracks|cracks]] down the [[gaels]] of Thon. [[No nubo no!]] [[Neblas on you liv!]] Her would be [[too moochy afreet]]. Of [[Burymeleg]] and [[Bindmerollingeyes|Bindme-]] [[Bindmerollingeyes|rollingeyes]] and [[all the deed in the woe]]. [[Fe fo fom!]] She [[jist]] does hopes till [[byes will be byes]]. Here, and [[it goes on to appear now]], she comes, a [[peacefugle]], a [[parody's bird]], a [[peri potmother]], a [[pringlpik]] in the [[ilandiskippy]], with [[peewee]] and [[powwows]] in [[beggybaggy]] on her [[bickybacky]] and a [[flick]] [[flask]] [[fleckflinging]] its [[pixylighting pacts']] [[huemeramybows]], picking here, pecking there, [[pussypussy]] [[plunderpussy]]. But it's the [[armitides toonigh]], [[militopucos]], and [[toomourn]] we wish for a [[muddy kissmans]] to the [[minutia]] workers and there's to be a [[gorgeups]] truce for [[happinest]] childher everwere. Come nebo me and suso sing the day we [[sallybright]]. She's burrowed the coacher's headlight the better to pry (who goes cute goes siocur and shoos aroun) and all spoiled goods go into her nabsack: curtrages and rattlin buttins, nappy spattees and [[flasks]] of all nations, clavicures and scampulars, maps, keys and woodpiles of haypennies and moonled brooches with bloodstaned breeks in em, boaston nightgarters and [[masses of]] shoesets and nickelly nacks and foder allmicheal and a lugly parson of cates and [[howitzer]] muchears and midgers and maggets, ills and ells with loffs of toffs and pleures of bells and the last sigh that come fro the hart (bucklied!) and the fairest [[sin]] the sunsaw ([[that's cearc]]!). [[With Kiss. Kiss Criss. Cross Criss. Kiss Cross.]] Undo lives 'end. Slain. How bootifull and how truetowife of her, when strengly fore- bidden, to steal our historic presents from the past postpropheti- cals so as to will make us all lordy heirs and ladymaidesses of a pretty nice kettle of fruit. She is livving in our midst of debt and laffing through all [[plores]] for us (her birth is uncontrollable), with a naperon for her mask and her sabboes kickin arias (so [[sair]]! so [[solly]]!) if yous ask me and [[I saack]] you. Hou! Hou! [[Gricks]] may rise and [[Troysirs]] fall (there being two sights for ever a picture)

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