| most earning, his board in the swealth of his fate as, having | 1 |
| moistened his manducators upon the quiet and scooping molars | 2 |
| and grinders clean with his two fore fingers, he sank his hunk, | 3 |
| dowanouet to resk at once, exhaust as winded hare, utterly spent, | 4 |
| it was all he could do (disgusted with himself that the combined | 5 |
| weight of his tons of iosals was a hundred men's massed too much | 6 |
| for him), upon the native heath he loved covered kneehigh with | 7 |
| virgin bush, for who who e'er trod sod of Erin could ever sleep | 8 |
| off the turf! Well, I'm liberally dished seeing myself in this trim! | 9 |
| How all too unwordy am I, a mere mailman of peace, a poor loust | 10 |
| hastehater of the first degree, the principot of Candia, no legs and | 11 |
| a title, for such eminence, or unpro promenade rather, to be much | 12 |
| more exact, as to be the bearer extraordinary of these postoomany | 13 |
| missive on his majesty's service while me and yous and them we're | 14 |
| extending us after the pattern of reposiveness! Weh is me, yeh is | 15 |
| ye! I, the mightif beam maircanny, which bit his mirth too early | 16 |
| or met his birth too late! It should of been my other with his | 17 |
| leickname for he's the head and I'm an everdevoting fiend of his. | 18 |
| I can seeze tomirror in tosdays of yer when we lofobsed os so ker. | 19 |
| Those sembal simon pumpkel pieman yers! We shared the twin | 20 |
| chamber and we winked on the one wench and what Sim sobs | 21 |
| todie I'll reeve tomorry, for 'twill be, I have hopes of, Sam | 22 |
| Dizzier's feedst. Tune in, tune on, old Tighe, high, high, high, | 23 |
| I'm thine owelglass. Be old! He looks rather thin, imitating me. | 24 |
| I'm very fond of that other of mine. Fish hands Macsorley! | 25 |
| Elien! Obsequies! Bonzeye! Isaac Egari's Ass! We're the music- | 26 |
| hall pair that won the swimmyease bladdhers at the Guinness | 27 |
| gala in Badeniveagh. I ought not to laugh with him on this stage. | 28 |
| But he' such a game loser! I lift my disk to him. Brass and reeds, | 29 |
| brace and ready! How is your napper, Handy, and hownow does | 30 |
| she stand? First he was living to feel what the eldest daughter she was | 31 |
| panseying and last he was dying to know what old Madre Patriack | 32 |
| does be up to. Take this John's Lane in your toastingfourch. Shaun- | 33 |
| ti and shaunti and shaunti again! And twelve coolinder moons! | 34 |
| I am no helotwashipper but I revere her! For my own coant! She | 35 |
| has studied! Piscisvendolor! You're grace! Futs dronk of | 36 |