BOOK: | I | II | III | IV |
|465 | 466 |467 |

Why, they might be Babau and Momie! Yipyip! To pan! To1
pan! To tinpinnypan. All folly me yap to Curlew! Give us a pin2
for her and we'll call it a tossup. Can you reverse positions?3
Lets have a fuchu all round, courting cousins! Quuck, the duck4
of a woman for quack, the drake of a man, her little live apples5
for Leas and love potients for Leos, the next beast king. Put6
me down for all ringside seats. I can feel you being corrupted.7
Recoil. I can see you sprouting scruples. Get back. And as8
he's boiling with water I'll light your pyre. Turn about, skeezy9
Sammy, out of metaphor, till we feel are you still tropeful10
of popetry. Told you so. If you doubt of his love of darearing11
his feelings you'll very much hurt for mishmash mastufractured12
on europe you can read off the tail of his. Rip ripper rippest and13
jac jac jac. Dwell on that, my hero and lander! That's the side14
that appeals to em, the wring wrong way to wright woman. Shuck15
her! Let him! What he's good for. Shuck her more! Let him16
again! All she wants! Could you wheedle a staveling encore out17
of your imitationer's jubalharp, hey, Mr Jinglejoys? Congrega-18
tional singing. Rota rota ran the pagoda con dio in capo ed il dia-19
volo in coda. Many a diva devoucha saw her Dauber Dan at the20
priesty pagoda Rota ran. Uck! He's so sedulous to singe always21
if prumpted, the mirthprovoker! Grunt unto us, I pray, your fore-22
boden article in our own deas dockandoilish introducing the23
death of Nelson with coloraturas! Coraio, fra! And I'll string24
second to harmanize. My loaf and pottage neaheaheahear Ro-25
chelle. With your dumpsey diddely dumpsey die, fiddeley fa.26
Diavoloh! Or come on, schoolcolours, and we'll scrap, rug and27
mat and then be as chummy as two bashed spuds. Bitrial bay28
holmgang or betrayal buy jury. Attaboy! Fee gate has Heenan29
hoity, mind uncle Hare? What, sir? Poss, myster? Acheve! Thou,30
thou! What say ye? Taurus periculosus, morbus pedeiculosus.31
Miserere mei in miseribilibus! There's uval lavguage for you! The32
tower is precluded, the mob's in her petticoats; Mr R. E. Meehan33
is in misery with his billyboots. Begob, there's not so much34
green in his Ireland's eye! Sweet fellow ovocal, he stones out of35
stune. But he could be near a colonel with a voice like that. The36