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[[TOC]] [[Page 6]] [[Page 8]] rockbound (hoahoahoah!) in swimswamswum and all the livvy- long night, the [[delldale]] dalppling night, the night of bluerybells, her flittaflute in tricky trochees (O carina! O carina!) wake him. With her issavan [[essavans]] and her patterjackmartins about all them inns and [[ouses]]. Tilling [[a teel of a tum]], [[telling a toll]] of a tea- ry [[turty]] [[Taubling]]. [[Grace]] before Glutton. For what we are, gifs à gross if we are, about to believe. So pool the begg and pass the kish for crawsake. [[Omen]]. So sigh us. Grampupus is fallen down but grinny sprids the [[boord]]. Whase on the [[joint]] of a [[desh]]? [[Finfoefom|Fin-]] [[Finfoefom|foefom]] the [[Fush]]. Whase be his [[baken head]]? A loaf of Singpan- try's Kennedy bread. And whase hitched to the hop in his tayle? A glass of [[Danu]] U'Dunnell's foamous olde [[Dobbelin ayle]]. But, lo, as you would quaffoff his [[fraudstuff]] and sink teeth through that pyth of a flowerwhite bodey behold of him as [[behemoth]] for [[he is noewhemoe]]. [[Finiche!]] Only a [[fadograph]] of a yestern scene. Almost rubicund Salmosalar, ancient fromout the ages of the Ag- apemonides, he is smolten in [[our mist]], woebecanned and packt away. So that meal's dead off for summan, schlook, schlice and [[goodridhirring]]. Yet may we not see still the [[brontoichthyan]] form outlined a- slumbered, even in our own nighttime by the sedge of the trout- ling stream that Bronto loved and Brunto has a lean on. Hic cubat edilis. Apud libertinam parvulam. Whatif she be in flags or flitters, reekierags or sundyechosies, with a mint of mines or beggar a pinnyweight. Arrah, sure, we all love little Anny Ruiny, or, we mean to say, lovelittle Anna Rayiny, when unda her brella, mid [[piddle]] med puddle, she ninnygoes nannygoes nancing by. Yoh! Brontolone slaaps, yoh snoores. Upon Benn Heather, in Seeple Isout too. The cranic head on him, caster of his reasons, peer yu- thner in yondmist. [[Whooth?]] His clay feet, swarded in verdigrass, stick up starck where he last [[fellonem]], by the [[mund]] of the maga- zine wall, where our maggy seen all, with her sisterin shawl. While over against this belles' alliance beyind Ill Sixty, ollol- lowed ill! bagsides of the fort, bom, tarabom, tarabom, lurk the ombushes, the site of the lyffing-in-wait of the upjock and hock- ums. Hence when the clouds roll by, jamey, a proudseye view is

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