| of our, alas, those times are not so far off as you might wish to | 1 |
| be congealed. So now, I'll ask of you, let ye create no scenes in | 2 |
| my poor primmafore's wake. I don't want yous to be billow- | 3 |
| fighting your biddy moriarty duels, gobble gabble, over me till | 4 |
| you spit stout, you understand, after soused mackerel, sniffling | 5 |
| clambake to hering and impudent barney, braggart of blarney, | 6 |
| nor you ugly lemoncholic gobs o'er the hobs in a sewing circle, | 7 |
| stopping oddments in maids' costumes at sweeping reductions, | 8 |
| wearing out your ohs by sitting around your ahs, making areek- | 9 |
| eransy round where I last put it, with the painters in too, | 10 |
| curse luck, with your rags up, exciting your mucuses, turning | 11 |
| breakfarts into lost soupirs and salon thay nor you flabbies on | 12 |
| your groaning chairs over Bollivar's troubles of a bluemoondag, | 13 |
| steamin your damp ossicles, praying Holy Prohibition and Jaun | 14 |
| Dyspeptist while Ole Clo goes through the wood with Shep | 15 |
| togather, touting in the chesnut burrs for Goodboy Sommers | 16 |
| and Mistral Blownowse hugs his kindlings when voiceyversy | 17 |
| it's my gala bene fit, robbing leaves out of my taletold book. | 18 |
| May my tunc fester if ever I see such a miry lot of maggalenes! | 19 |
| Once upon a drunk and a fairly good drunk it was and the rest | 20 |
| of your blatherumskite! Just a plain shays by the fire for absent- | 21 |
| er Sh the Po and I'll make ye all as eastern hummingsphere of | 22 |
| myself the moment that you name the way. Look in the slag | 23 |
| scuttle and you'll see me sailspread over the singing, and what | 24 |
| do ye want trippings for when you've Paris inspire your hat? | 25 |
| Sussumcordials all round, let ye alloyiss and ominies, while I | 26 |
| stray and let ye not be getting grief out of it, though blighted | 27 |
| troth be all bereft, on my poor headsake, even should we forfeit | 28 |
| our life. Lo, improving ages wait ye! In the orchard of the bones. | 29 |
| Some time very presently now when yon clouds are dissipated | 30 |
| after their forty years shower, the odds are, we shall all be hooked | 31 |
| and happy, communionistically, among the fieldnights eliceam, | 32 |
| élite of the elect, in the land of lost of time. Johannisburg's a re- | 33 |
| velation! Deck the diamants that never die! So cut out the lone- | 34 |
| some stuff! Drink it up, ladies, please, as smart as you can lower | 35 |
| it! Out with lent! Clap hands postilium! Fastintide is by. Your | 36 |