Difference between revisions of "Page 279"
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− | <TR><TD COLSPAN=3 > <SUP>1</SUP> Come, smooth of my slate, to the beat of my blosh! With all these gelded </TD></TR> | + | <TR><TD COLSPAN=3 > <SUP>1</SUP> Come, [[smooth of my slate]], to the beat of my blosh! With all these gelded </TD></TR> |
<TR><TD COLSPAN=3> ewes jilting about and the thrills and ills of laylock blossoms three's so much </TD></TR> | <TR><TD COLSPAN=3> ewes jilting about and the thrills and ills of laylock blossoms three's so much </TD></TR> | ||
<TR><TD COLSPAN=3> more plants than chants for cecilies that I was thinking fairly killing times of </TD></TR> | <TR><TD COLSPAN=3> more plants than chants for cecilies that I was thinking fairly killing times of </TD></TR> |
Revision as of 08:02, 21 October 2011
and the face in the treebark feigns afear. This | MODES COA- | |
is rainstones ringing. Strangely cult for this | LESCING | |
ceasing of the yore. But Erigureen is ever. | PROLIFER- | |
Pot price pon patrilinear plop, if the osseletion | ATE HOMO- | |
of the onkring gives omen nome? Since alls | GENUINE | |
war that end war let sports be leisure and | HOMOGEN- | |
bring and buy fair. Ah ah athclete, blest your | EITY. | |
bally bathfeet! Towntoquest, fortorest, the | ||
hour that hies is hurley. A halt for hearsake. 1 | ||
1 Come, smooth of my slate, to the beat of my blosh! With all these gelded | ||
ewes jilting about and the thrills and ills of laylock blossoms three's so much | ||
more plants than chants for cecilies that I was thinking fairly killing times of | ||
putting an end to myself and my malody, when I remembered all your pupil- | ||
teacher's erringnesses in perfection class. You sh'undn't write you can't if you | ||
w'udn't pass for undevelopmented. This is the propper way to say that, Sr. If | ||
it's me chews to swallow all you saidn't you can eat my words for it as sure as | ||
there's a key in my kiss. Quick erit faciofacey. When we will conjugate to- | ||
gether toloseher tomaster tomiss while morrow fans amare hour, verbe de vie | ||
and verve to vie, with love ay loved have I on my back spine and does for | ||
ever. Your are me severe? Then rue. My intended, Jr, who I'm throne away | ||
on, (here he inst, my lifstack, a newfolly likon) when I slip through my pettigo | ||
I'll get my decree and take seidens when I'm not ploughed first by some | ||
Rolando the Lasso, and flaunt on the flimsyfilmsies for to grig my collage | ||
juniorees who, though they flush fuchsia, are they octette and virginity in my | ||
shade but always my figurants. They may be yea of my year but they're nary | ||
nay of my day. Wait till spring has sprung in spickness and prigs beg in to pry | ||
they'll be plentyprime of housepets to pimp and pamper my. Impending mar- | ||
riage. Nature tells everybody about but I learned all the runes of the gamest | ||
game ever from my old nourse Asa. A most adventuring trot is her and she | ||
vicking well knowed them all heartswise and fourwords. How Olive d'Oyly | ||
and Winnie Carr, bejupers, they reized the dressing of a salandmon and how a | ||
peeper coster and a salt sailor med a mustied poet atwaimen. It most have | ||
bean Mad Mullans planted him. Bina de Bisse and Trestrine von Terrefin. | ||
Sago sound, rite go round, kill kackle, kook kettle and (remember all should | ||
I forget to) bolt the thor. Auden. Wasn't it just divining that dog of a dag | ||
in Skokholme as I sat astrid uppum their Drewitt's altar, as cooledas as cul- | ||
cumbre, slapping my straights till the sloping ruins, postillion, postallion, a | ||
swinge a swank, with you offering me clouts of illscents and them horners | ||
stagstruck on the leasward! Don't be of red, you blanching mench! This | ||
isabella I'm on knows the ruelles of the rut and she don't fear andy mandy. So | ||
sing loud, sweet cheeriot, like anegreon in heaven! The good fother with the | ||
twingling in his eye will always have cakes in his pocket to bethroat us with | ||
for our allmichael good. Amum. Amum. And Amum again. For tough troth | ||
is stronger than fortuitous fiction and it's the surplice money, oh my young | ||
friend and ah me sweet creature, what buys the bed while wits borrows the | ||
clothes. |