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  — Three quarks for Muster Mark!
  Sure he hasn't got much of a bark
  And sure any he has it's all beside the mark.
  But O, Wreneagle Almighty, wouldn't un be a sky of a lark
  To see that old buzzard whooping about for uns shirt in the dark
  And he hunting round for uns speckled trousers around by Palmer-
     stown Park?
  Hohohoho, moulty Mark!	
  You're the rummest old rooster ever flopped out of a Noah's ark
  And you think you're cock of the wark.
  Fowls, up! Tristy's the spry young spark
  That'll tread her and wed her and bed her and red her
  Without ever winking the tail of a feather	
  And that's how that chap's going to make his money and mark!
  Overhoved, shrillgleescreaming. That song sang seaswans.
The winging ones. Seahawk, seagull, curlew and plover, kestrel
and capercallzie. All the birds of the sea they trolled out rightbold
when they smacked the big kuss of Trustan with Usolde.	
  And there they were too, when it was dark, whilest the wild-
caps was circling, as slow their ship, the winds aslight, upborne
the fates, the wardorse moved, by courtesy of Mr Deaubaleau	
Downbellow Kaempersally, listening in, as hard as they could, in
Dubbeldorp, the donker, by the tourneyold of the wattarfalls,	
with their vuoxens and they kemin in so hattajocky (only a