| Why, they might be Babau and Momie! Yipyip! To pan! To | 1 |
| pan! To tinpinnypan. All folly me yap to Curlew! Give us a pin | 2 |
| for her and we'll call it a tossup. Can you reverse positions? | 3 |
| Lets have a fuchu all round, courting cousins! Quuck, the duck | 4 |
| of a woman for quack, the drake of a man, her little live apples | 5 |
| for Leas and love potients for Leos, the next beast king. Put | 6 |
| me down for all ringside seats. I can feel you being corrupted. | 7 |
| Recoil. I can see you sprouting scruples. Get back. And as | 8 |
| he's boiling with water I'll light your pyre. Turn about, skeezy | 9 |
| Sammy, out of metaphor, till we feel are you still tropeful | 10 |
| of popetry. Told you so. If you doubt of his love of darearing | 11 |
| his feelings you'll very much hurt for mishmash mastufractured | 12 |
| on europe you can read off the tail of his. Rip ripper rippest and | 13 |
| jac jac jac. Dwell on that, my hero and lander! That's the side | 14 |
| that appeals to em, the wring wrong way to wright woman. Shuck | 15 |
| her! Let him! What he's good for. Shuck her more! Let him | 16 |
| again! All she wants! Could you wheedle a staveling encore out | 17 |
| 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 the | 20 |
| priesty pagoda Rota ran. Uck! He's so sedulous to singe always | 21 |
| if prumpted, the mirthprovoker! Grunt unto us, I pray, your fore- | 22 |
| boden article in our own deas dockandoilish introducing the | 23 |
| death of Nelson with coloraturas! Coraio, fra! And I'll string | 24 |
| 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 and | 27 |
| mat and then be as chummy as two bashed spuds. Bitrial bay | 28 |
| holmgang or betrayal buy jury. Attaboy! Fee gate has Heenan | 29 |
| 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! The | 32 |
| tower is precluded, the mob's in her petticoats; Mr R. E. Meehan | 33 |
| is in misery with his billyboots. Begob, there's not so much | 34 |
| green in his Ireland's eye! Sweet fellow ovocal, he stones out of | 35 |
| stune. But he could be near a colonel with a voice like that. The | 36 |