BOOK: | I | II | III | IV |
|144 | 145 |146 |

birthday pelts seenso tutu and that her blanches mainges may rot1
leprous off her whatever winking maggis I'll bet by your cut2
you go fleurting after with all the glass on her and the jumps3
in her stomewhere! Haha! I suspected she was! Sink her! May4
they fire her for a barren ewe! So she says: Tay for thee? Well, I5
saith: Angst so mush: and desired she might not take it amiss if I6
esteemed her but an odd. If I did ate toughturf I'm not a mishy-7
missy. Of course I know, pettest, you're so learningful and8
considerate in yourself, so friend of vegetables, you long cold cat9
you! Please by acquiester to meek my acquointance! Codling,10
snakelet, iciclist! My diaper has more life to it! Who drowned11
you in drears, man, or are you pillale with ink? Did a weep get12
past the gates of your pride? My tread on the clover, sweetness?13
Yes, the buttercups told me, hug me, damn it all, and I'll kiss14
you back to life, my peachest. I mean to make you suffer,15
meddlar, and I don't care this fig for contempt of courting.16
That I chid you, sweet sir? You know I'm tender by my eye.17
Can't you read by dazzling ones through me true? Bite my18
laughters, drink my tears. Pore into me, volumes, spell me stark19
and spill me swooning. I just don't care what my thwarters20
think. Transname me loveliness, now and here me for all times!21
I'd risk a policeman passing by, Magrath or even that beggar of22
a boots at the Post. The flame? O, pardone! That was what?23
Ah, did you speak, stuffstuff? More poestries from Chickspeer's24
with gleechoreal music or a jaculation from the garden of the25
soul. Of I be leib in the immoralities? O, you mean the strangle26
for love and the sowiveall of the prettiest? Yep, we open hap27
coseries in the home. And once upon a week I improve on myself28
I'm so keen on that New Free Woman with novel inside. I'm29
always as tickled as can be over Man in a Surplus by the Lady30
who Pays the Rates. But I'm as pie as is possible. Let's root31
out Brimstoker and give him the thrall of our lives. It's Dracula's32
nightout. For creepsake don't make a flush! Draw the shades,33
curfe you, and I'll beat any sonnamonk to love. Holy bug, how34
my highness would jump to make you flame your halve a ban-35
nan in two when I'd run my burning torchlight through (to adore36