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from the eligible ministriss for affairs with the black fremdling,
that enemy of our country, in a cleanlooking light and I don't
care a tongser's tammany hang who the mucky is nor twoo
hoots in the corner nor three shouts on a hill (were he even
a constantineal namesuch of my very own, Attaboy Knowling,
and like enoch to my townmajor ancestors, the two that are
taking out their divorces in the Spooksbury courts circuits,
Rere Uncle Remus, the Baas of Eboracum and Old Father
Ulissabon Knickerbocker, the lanky sire of Wolverhampton,
about their bristelings), but as true as there's a soke for sakes in
Twoways Peterborough and sure as home we come to newsky
prospect from west the wave on schedule time (if I came any
quicker I'll be right back before I left) from the land of breach
of promise with Brendan's mantle whitening the Kerribrasilian
sea and March's pebbles spinning from beneath our footslips to
carry fire and sword, rest insured that as we value the very name
in sister that as soon as we do possibly it will be a poor lookout
for that insister. He's a markt man from that hour. And why do
we say that, you may query me? Quary? Guess! Call'st thou?
Think and think and think, I urge on you. Muffed! The wrong
porridge. You are an ignoratis! Because then probably we'll
dumb well soon show him what the Shaun way is like how we'll
go a long way towards breaking his outsider's face for him for
making up to you with his bringthee balm of Gaylad and his
singthee songs of Arupee, chancetrying my ward's head into
sanctuary before feeling with his two dimensions for your nup-
tial dito. Ohibow, if I was Blonderboss I'd gooandfrighthisdual-
man! Now, we'll tell you what we'll do to be sicker instead of
compensation. We'll he'll burst our his mouth like Leary to the
Leinsterface and reduce he'll we'll ournhisn liniments to a
poolp. Open the door softly, somebody wants you, dear! You'll
hear him calling you, bump, like a blizz, in the muezzin of the
turkest night. Come on now, pillarbox! I'll stiffen your scribeall,
broken reed! That'll be it, grand operoar style, even should I,
with my sleuts of hogpew and cheekas, have to coomb the brash
of the libs round Close Saint Patrice to lay my louseboob on his