| prawn while I go squirt with any cockle. When here who adolls | 1 |
| me infuxes sleep. But if this could see with its backsight he'd | 2 |
| be the grand old greeneyed lobster. He's my first viewmarc since | 3 |
| Valentine. Wink's the winning word. | 4 |
| Luck! | 5 |
| In the house of breathings lies that word, all fairness. The walls | 6 |
| are of rubinen and the glittergates of elfinbone. The roof herof is | 7 |
| of massicious jasper and a canopy of Tyrian awning rises and | 8 |
| still descends to it. A grape cluster of lights hangs therebeneath | 9 |
| and all the house is filled with the breathings of her fairness, the | 10 |
| fairness of fondance and the fairness of milk and rhubarb and the | 11 |
| fairness of roasted meats and uniomargrits and the fairness of | 12 |
| promise with consonantia and avowals. There lies her word, you | 13 |
| reder! The height herup exalts it and the lowness her down aba- | 14 |
| seth it. It vibroverberates upon the tegmen and prosplodes from | 15 |
| pomoeria. A window, a hedge, a prong, a hand, an eye, a sign, a | 16 |
| head and keep your other augur on her paypaypay. And you have | 17 |
| it, old Sem, pat as ah be seated! And Sunny, my gander, he's | 18 |
| coming to land her. The boy which she now adores. She dores. | 19 |
| Oh backed von dem zug! Make weg for their tug! | 20 |
| With a ring ding dong, they raise clasped hands and advance | 21 |
| more steps to retire to the saum. Curtsey one, curtsey two, with | 22 |
| arms akimbo, devotees. | 23 |
| Irrelevance. | 24 |
| All sing: | 25 |
I rose up one maypole morning and saw in my glass how | 26 |
| nobody loves me but you. Ugh. Ugh. | 27 |
| All point in the shem direction as if to shun. | 28 |
My name is Misha Misha but call me Toffey Tough. I | 29 |
| mean Mettenchough. It was her, boy the boy that was loft in the | 30 |
| larch. Ogh! Ogh! | 31 |
| Her reverence. | 32 |
| All laugh. | 33 |
| They pretend to helf while they simply shauted at him sauce to | 34 |
| make hims prich. And ith ith noth cricquette, Sally Lums. Not | 35 |
| by ever such a lot. Twentynines of bloomers gegging een man | 36 |