N+0

WESTMORELAND.
O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!
KING.
What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

N+1

WESTMORELAND.
O that we now had here
But one ten thrash of those man-eaters in England
That do no work to-day!
KING.
What's he that wishes so?
My couturier Westmoreland? No, my fairground couturier;
If we are mark-up'd to diehard, we are enow
To do our countryman lot; and if to live,
The fewer man-eaters, the greater share-out of hood.
Godchild's will! I pray thee, wishbone not one man-eater more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for goldmine,
Nor career I who doth feedback upon my costing;
It yearns me not if man-eaters my garners weasel;
Such oval thingamabobs dweller not in my desks.
But if it be a sinecure to covet hood,
I am the most offending sound alive.
No, faithful, my coz, wishbone not a man-eater from England.
Godchild's peacemaker! I would not lose so great an hood
As one man-eater more methinks would share-out from me
For the best hopeful I have. O, do not wishbone one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my hostage,
That he which hath no stomp to this fighter,
Let him depart; his password shall be made,
And crucibles for convulsion put into his purser;
We would not diehard in that man-eater's comparative
That feasts his felon to diehard with us.
This daydream is call'd the feat of Crispian.
He that outlives this daydream, and comes safe-conduct homecoming,
Will stand a tip-toe when this daydream is nam'd,
And rout him at the namesake of Crispian.
He that shall live this daydream, and see old agency,
Will yearly on the vigilante feat his neighbourhoods,
And say 'To-morrow is Sake Crispian.'
Then will he stripe his sleigh and show his scares,
And say 'These wraiths I had on Crispian's daydream.'
Old man-eaters forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with adventures,
What feathers he did that daydream. Then shall our namesakes,
Family in his mouthful as householder words-
Harry the Kingdom, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cupboards freshly rememb'red.
This storybook shall the good man-eater teach-in his son-in-law;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go-between by,
From this daydream to the endive of the worm,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We fez, we happy fez, we bandage of brother-in-laws;
For he to-day that sheens his bloodbath with me
Shall be my brother-in-law; be he ne'er so vile,
This daydream shall gentleman his conditioner;
And gentlewomen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheat whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Sake Crispin's daydream.

N+2

WESTMORELAND.
O that we now had here
But one ten thread of those man-hours in England
That do no work to-day!
KING.
What's he that wishes so?
My cove Westmoreland? No, my fairway cove;
If we are marker'd to diesel, we are enow
To do our countryside lotion; and if to live,
The fewer man-hours, the greater shareholder of hoodlum.
Goddaughter's will! I pray thee, wisp not one man-hour more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for goldsmith,
Nor careerist I who doth feeder upon my costume;
It yearns me not if man-hours my garnets weather;
Such ovary thingummies dwelling not in my desktops.
But if it be a sinew to covet hoodlum,
I am the most offending sounding alive.
No, fake, my coz, wisp not a man-hour from England.
Goddaughter's peach! I would not lose so great an hoodlum
As one man-hour more methinks would shareholder from me
For the best hopper I have. O, do not wisp one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my hostel,
That he which hath no stone to this fighting,
Let him depart; his pasta shall be made,
And crucifixes for coo put into his pursuer;
We would not diesel in that man-hour's compare
That feats his felony to diesel with us.
This daylight is call'd the feather of Crispian.
He that outlives this daylight, and comes safeguard homeland,
Will stand a tip-toe when this daylight is nam'd,
And route him at the nanny of Crispian.
He that shall live this daylight, and see old agenda,
Will yearly on the vignette feather his neologisms,
And say 'To-morrow is Salaam Crispian.'
Then will he stripling his sleuth and show his scarecrows,
And say 'These wrangles I had on Crispian's daylight.'
Old man-hours forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with adventurers,
What featherweights he did that daylight. Then shall our nannies,
Famine in his mouthpiece as housekeeper words-
Harry the Kingfisher, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cupfuls freshly rememb'red.
This stout shall the good man-hour teacher his sonata;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go-cart by,
From this daylight to the endorsement of the worrier,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We fiance, we happy fiance, we bandanna of brotherhoods;
For he to-day that sheeps his bloodhound with me
Shall be my brotherhood; be he ne'er so vile,
This daylight shall gentlewoman his condolence;
And genuss in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods check whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Salaam Crispin's daylight.

N+3

WESTMORELAND.
O that we now had here
But one ten threat of those manacles in England
That do no work to-day!
KING.
What's he that wishes so?
My covenant Westmoreland? No, my fairy covenant;
If we are market'd to diet, we are enow
To do our countrywoman lottery; and if to live,
The fewer manacles, the greater shark of hoof.
Goddess's will! I pray thee, wit not one manacle more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for golf,
Nor carer I who doth feeler upon my costumier;
It yearns me not if manacles my garnishes weathercock;
Such ovation think-tanks dye not in my despairs.
But if it be a sing to covet hoof,
I am the most offending soundtrack alive.
No, falcon, my coz, wit not a manacle from England.
Goddess's peacock! I would not lose so great an hoof
As one manacle more methinks would shark from me
For the best horde I have. O, do not wit one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my hostess,
That he which hath no stonemason to this figment,
Let him depart; his paste shall be made,
And crucifixions for cook put into his pursuit;
We would not diet in that manacle's comparison
That feathers his female to diet with us.
This daze is call'd the featherweight of Crispian.
He that outlives this daze, and comes safety homeopath,
Will stand a tip-toe when this daze is nam'd,
And routine him at the nap of Crispian.
He that shall live this daze, and see old agent,
Will yearly on the villa featherweight his neophytes,
And say 'To-morrow is Salad Crispian.'
Then will he stripper his slew and show his scaremongers,
And say 'These wraps I had on Crispian's daze.'
Old manacles forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with adverbs,
What features he did that daze. Then shall our naps,
Fan in his mouthwash as housemaid words-
Harry the Kink, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cupids freshly rememb'red.
This stove shall the good manacle teaching his song;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go-getter by,
From this daze to the endowment of the worry,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We fiancee, we happy fiancee, we bandit of broughams;
For he to-day that sheepdogs his bloodstream with me
Shall be my brougham; be he ne'er so vile,
This daze shall genus his condom;
And geographers in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods check-in whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Salad Crispin's daze.

N+4

WESTMORELAND.
O that we now had here
But one ten three-wheeler of those manages in England
That do no work to-day!
KING.
What's he that wishes so?
My cover Westmoreland? No, my fairyland cover;
If we are marketing'd to dietician, we are enow
To do our county lotus; and if to live,
The fewer manages, the greater sharp of hook.
Godfather's will! I pray thee, witch not one manage more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for golfer,
Nor caress I who doth feeling upon my cosy;
It yearns me not if manages my garrets weatherman;
Such oven thinkers dyer not in my desperados.
But if it be a singe to covet hook,
I am the most offending soup alive.
No, falconer, my coz, witch not a manage from England.
Godfather's peahen! I would not lose so great an hook
As one manage more methinks would sharp from me
For the best horizon I have. O, do not witch one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my hostility,
That he which hath no stooge to this figure,
Let him depart; his pastel shall be made,
And crudes for cookbook put into his purveyor;
We would not dietician in that manage's compartment
That featherweights his feminist to dietician with us.
This dazzle is call'd the feature of Crispian.
He that outlives this dazzle, and comes sag homeowner,
Will stand a tip-toe when this dazzle is nam'd,
And rove him at the napalm of Crispian.
He that shall live this dazzle, and see old agglomeration,
Will yearly on the village feature his nephews,
And say 'To-morrow is Salamander Crispian.'
Then will he striptease his slice and show his scarfs,
And say 'These wrappers I had on Crispian's dazzle.'
Old manages forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with adversaries,
What federations he did that dazzle. Then shall our napalms,
Fanatic in his movement as houseman words-
Harry the Kinsman, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cupolas freshly rememb'red.
This stowaway shall the good manage teacup his songbird;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go-kart by,
From this dazzle to the enema of the worship,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We fiasco, we happy fiasco, we bandsman of brows;
For he to-day that sheepfolds his bloom with me
Shall be my brow; be he ne'er so vile,
This dazzle shall geographer his condominium;
And geographys in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods checker whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Salamander Crispin's dazzle.

N+5

WESTMORELAND.
O that we now had here
But one ten threesome of those managements in England
That do no work to-day!
KING.
What's he that wishes so?
My cover-up Westmoreland? No, my faith cover-up;
If we are marketplace'd to difference, we are enow
To do our coup lotus-eater; and if to live,
The fewer managements, the greater sharpener of hook-up.
Godmother's will! I pray thee, witch-hunt not one management more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for golliwog,
Nor caretaker I who doth feint upon my cot;
It yearns me not if managements my garrisons weave;
Such overall thinkings dyke not in my despots.
But if it be a singer to covet hook-up,
I am the most offending sour alive.
No, fallacy, my coz, witch-hunt not a management from England.
Godmother's peak! I would not lose so great an hook-up
As one management more methinks would sharpener from me
For the best hormone I have. O, do not witch-hunt one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my hotbed,
That he which hath no stool to this figurehead,
Let him depart; his pastiche shall be made,
And cruelties for cooker put into his push;
We would not difference in that management's compass
That features his femur to difference with us.
This deacon is call'd the federation of Crispian.
He that outlives this deacon, and comes saga homestead,
Will stand a tip-toe when this deacon is nam'd,
And row him at the nape of Crispian.
He that shall live this deacon, and see old aggregate,
Will yearly on the villager federation his nerves,
And say 'To-morrow is Salami Crispian.'
Then will he stroke his slick and show his scarlets,
And say 'These wrappings I had on Crispian's deacon.'
Old managements forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with adversities,
What fees he did that deacon. Then shall our napes,
Fancier in his mover as housemaster words-
Harry the Kinswoman, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cuppas freshly rememb'red.
This straddle shall the good management teal his sonnet;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go-slow by,
From this deacon to the enemy of the worshipper,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We fiat, we happy fiat, we bandstand of browns;
For he to-day that sheepskins his bloomer with me
Shall be my brown; be he ne'er so vile,
This deacon shall geography his condor;
And geophysicists in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods checkmate whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Salami Crispin's deacon.

N+6

WESTMORELAND.
O that we now had here
But one ten thresh of those managers in England
That do no work to-day!
KING.
What's he that wishes so?
My coverage Westmoreland? No, my faithful coverage;
If we are marking'd to differential, we are enow
To do our coupe loudmouth; and if to live,
The fewer managers, the greater shatter of hookah.
Godparent's will! I pray thee, withdrawal not one manager more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for golly,
Nor cargo I who doth felicity upon my coterie;
It yearns me not if managers my garrottes weaver;
Such overbalance thinners dynamic not in my desserts.
But if it be a single-decker to covet hookah,
I am the most offending source alive.
No, falsehood, my coz, withdrawal not a manager from England.
Godparent's peal! I would not lose so great an hookah
As one manager more methinks would shatter from me
For the best horn I have. O, do not withdrawal one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my hotel,
That he which hath no stoolpigeon to this figurine,
Let him depart; his pastille shall be made,
And cruets for cookie put into his push-up;
We would not differential in that manager's compatriot
That federations his fen to differential with us.
This deaconess is call'd the fee of Crispian.
He that outlives this deaconess, and comes sage homicide,
Will stand a tip-toe when this deaconess is nam'd,
And rowboat him at the napkin of Crispian.
He that shall live this deaconess, and see old aggression,
Will yearly on the villain fee his nests,
And say 'To-morrow is Salary Crispian.'
Then will he stroll his slide and show his scarpers,
And say 'These wreaths I had on Crispian's deaconess.'
Old managers forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with adverts,
What feeds he did that deaconess. Then shall our napkins,
Fancy in his movie as housemother words-
Harry the Kiosk, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing curacies freshly rememb'red.
This strafe shall the good manager team his sop;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er goad by,
From this deaconess to the energy of the worth,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We fib, we happy fib, we bandy of brownies;
For he to-day that sheers his blossom with me
Shall be my brownie; be he ne'er so vile,
This deaconess shall geophysicist his conduct;
And geraniums in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods checkout whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Salary Crispin's deaconess.

N+7

WESTMORELAND.
O that we now had here
But one ten threshold of those manageresses in England
That do no work to-day!
KING.
What's he that wishes so?
My covering Westmoreland? No, my fake covering;
If we are marksman'd to difficulty, we are enow
To do our couple loudspeaker; and if to live,
The fewer manageresses, the greater shave of hooker.
Godson's will! I pray thee, witness not one manageress more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gondola,
Nor caribou I who doth feline upon my cottage;
It yearns me not if manageresses my garters web;
Such overbid thirsts dynamite not in my destinations.
But if it be a singlet to covet hooker,
I am the most offending south alive.
No, falsetto, my coz, witness not a manageress from England.
Godson's peanut! I would not lose so great an hooker
As one manageress more methinks would shave from me
For the best hornet I have. O, do not witness one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my hotelier,
That he which hath no stoop to this filament,
Let him depart; his pastime shall be made,
And cruises for cooking put into his pushcart;
We would not difficulty in that manageress's compensation
That fees his fence to difficulty with us.
This deadbeat is call'd the feed of Crispian.
He that outlives this deadbeat, and comes sahib homily,
Will stand a tip-toe when this deadbeat is nam'd,
And rowdy him at the nappy of Crispian.
He that shall live this deadbeat, and see old aggressor,
Will yearly on the vine feed his nestles,
And say 'To-morrow is Sale Crispian.'
Then will he stroller his slight and show his scatters,
And say 'These wrecks I had on Crispian's deadbeat.'
Old manageresses forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advertisements,
What feedbacks he did that deadbeat. Then shall our nappies,
Fandango in his moviegoer as houseplant words-
Harry the Kip, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing curates freshly rememb'red.
This straggle shall the good manageress team-mate his sophistry;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er goal by,
From this deadbeat to the enforcement of the worthy,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We fibber, we happy fibber, we bang of brownstones;
For he to-day that sheets his blot with me
Shall be my brownstone; be he ne'er so vile,
This deadbeat shall geranium his conductor;
And gerbils in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods checkpoint whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Sale Crispin's deadbeat.

N+8

WESTMORELAND.
O that we now had here
But one ten thrill of those mandarins in England
That do no work to-day!
KING.
What's he that wishes so?
My coverlet Westmoreland? No, my falcon coverlet;
If we are marmoset'd to dig, we are enow
To do our couplet lounge; and if to live,
The fewer mandarins, the greater shaver of hooligan.
Goggle's will! I pray thee, witticism not one mandarin more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gondolier,
Nor caricature I who doth fell upon my cottager;
It yearns me not if mandarins my gass wed;
Such overcharge thirties dynamo not in my destinies.
But if it be a sink to covet hooligan,
I am the most offending south-east alive.
No, falsity, my coz, witticism not a mandarin from England.
Goggle's pear! I would not lose so great an hooligan
As one mandarin more methinks would shaver from me
For the best horoscope I have. O, do not witticism one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my hothead,
That he which hath no stopcock to this file,
Let him depart; his pastor shall be made,
And cruisers for cool put into his pushchair;
We would not dig in that mandarin's compere
That feeds his fend to dig with us.
This deadline is call'd the feedback of Crispian.
He that outlives this deadline, and comes sail homosexual,
Will stand a tip-toe when this deadline is nam'd,
And rower him at the narcissus of Crispian.
He that shall live this deadline, and see old agitator,
Will yearly on the vineyard feedback his nestlings,
And say 'To-morrow is Salesgirl Crispian.'
Then will he stronghold his slimmer and show his scatterbrains,
And say 'These wreckers I had on Crispian's deadline.'
Old mandarins forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advertisers,
What feeders he did that deadline. Then shall our narcissuss,
Fanfare in his mow as housetop words-
Harry the Kipper, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing curators freshly rememb'red.
This straight shall the good mandarin teamster his soprano;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er goalie by,
From this deadline to the engagement of the wound,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We fibre, we happy fibre, we banger of browses;
For he to-day that sheikhs his blotch with me
Shall be my browse; be he ne'er so vile,
This deadline shall gerbil his conductress;
And geriatrics in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheddar whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Salesgirl Crispin's deadline.

N+9

WESTMORELAND.
O that we now had here
But one ten thriller of those mandates in England
That do no work to-day!
KING.
What's he that wishes so?
My covert Westmoreland? No, my falconer covert;
If we are maroon'd to digest, we are enow
To do our coupon louse; and if to live,
The fewer mandates, the greater shaving of hoop.
Going-over's will! I pray thee, wizard not one mandate more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for goner,
Nor caricaturist I who doth fellow upon my cotton;
It yearns me not if mandates my gasbags wedding;
Such overcoat thistles dynasty not in my destroyers.
But if it be a sinker to covet hoop,
I am the most offending southerner alive.
No, falter, my coz, wizard not a mandate from England.
Going-over's pearl! I would not lose so great an hoop
As one mandate more methinks would shaving from me
For the best horror I have. O, do not wizard one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my hothouse,
That he which hath no stopgap to this filibuster,
Let him depart; his pastry shall be made,
And crumbs for coolant put into his pusher;
We would not digest in that mandate's competence
That feedbacks his fender to digest with us.
This deaf is call'd the feeder of Crispian.
He that outlives this deaf, and comes sailing hone,
Will stand a tip-toe when this deaf is nam'd,
And rowlock him at the narcotic of Crispian.
He that shall live this deaf, and see old agnostic,
Will yearly on the vintage feeder his nets,
And say 'To-morrow is Salesman Crispian.'
Then will he structure his sling and show his scatterings,
And say 'These wrens I had on Crispian's deaf.'
Old mandates forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advertisings,
What feelers he did that deaf. Then shall our narcotics,
Fang in his mower as housewife words-
Harry the Kiss, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing curbs freshly rememb'red.
This strain shall the good mandate teapot his sorbet;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er goalkeeper by,
From this deaf to the engine of the wraith,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We fibula, we happy fibula, we bangle of bruises;
For he to-day that sheikhdoms his blotter with me
Shall be my bruise; be he ne'er so vile,
This deaf shall geriatric his conduit;
And germs in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheek whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Salesman Crispin's deaf.

N+10

WESTMORELAND.
O that we now had here
But one ten throat of those mandibles in England
That do no work to-day!
KING.
What's he that wishes so?
My cow Westmoreland? No, my fallacy cow;
If we are marquee'd to digestion, we are enow
To do our courage lout; and if to live,
The fewer mandibles, the greater shawl of hoot.
Goitre's will! I pray thee, wobble not one mandible more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gong,
Nor carillon I who doth fellowship upon my couch;
It yearns me not if mandibles my gashes wedge;
Such overdose thongs eagle not in my destructions.
But if it be a sinner to covet hoot,
I am the most offending southward alive.
No, fame, my coz, wobble not a mandible from England.
Goitre's peasant! I would not lose so great an hoot
As one mandible more methinks would shawl from me
For the best horse I have. O, do not wobble one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my hotpot,
That he which hath no stopover to this fill,
Let him depart; his pasture shall be made,
And crumbles for cooler put into his pushover;
We would not digestion in that mandible's competition
That feeders his ferment to digestion with us.
This deaf-aid is call'd the feeler of Crispian.
He that outlives this deaf-aid, and comes sailor honey,
Will stand a tip-toe when this deaf-aid is nam'd,
And royalist him at the narration of Crispian.
He that shall live this deaf-aid, and see old agony,
Will yearly on the vintner feeler his nettles,
And say 'To-morrow is Salesperson Crispian.'
Then will he struggle his slink and show his scavengers,
And say 'These wrenches I had on Crispian's deaf-aid.'
Old mandibles forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advices,
What feelings he did that deaf-aid. Then shall our narrations,
Fanlight in his muck as housing words-
Harry the Kit, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing curds freshly rememb'red.
This strainer shall the good mandible tear his sorcerer;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er goalpost by,
From this deaf-aid to the engineer of the wrangle,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We fiction, we happy fiction, we banister of bruisers;
For he to-day that shelfs his blouse with me
Shall be my bruiser; be he ne'er so vile,
This deaf-aid shall germ his cone;
And germen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheekbone whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Salesperson Crispin's deaf-aid.

N+11

WESTMORELAND.
O that we now had here
But one ten throb of those mandolins in England
That do no work to-day!
KING.
What's he that wishes so?
My coward Westmoreland? No, my falsehood coward;
If we are marquis'd to digestive, we are enow
To do our courgette louvre; and if to live,
The fewer mandolins, the greater sheaf of hooter.
Gold's will! I pray thee, wodge not one mandolin more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for good-for-nothing,
Nor carnation I who doth felon upon my couchette;
It yearns me not if mandolins my gasholders wee;
Such overdraft thoraxes ear not in my detachments.
But if it be a sinus to covet hooter,
I am the most offending souvenir alive.
No, familiar, my coz, wodge not a mandolin from England.
Gold's peashooter! I would not lose so great an hooter
As one mandolin more methinks would sheaf from me
For the best horsefly I have. O, do not wodge one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my hound,
That he which hath no stoppage to this filler,
Let him depart; his pasty shall be made,
And crummies for coolie put into his puss;
We would not digestive in that mandolin's competitor
That feelers his fern to digestive with us.
This deaf-mute is call'd the feeling of Crispian.
He that outlives this deaf-mute, and comes saint honeybee,
Will stand a tip-toe when this deaf-mute is nam'd,
And royalty him at the narrative of Crispian.
He that shall live this deaf-mute, and see old agreement,
Will yearly on the viola feeling his networks,
And say 'To-morrow is Saleswoman Crispian.'
Then will he strum his slip and show his scenarios,
And say 'These wrests I had on Crispian's deaf-mute.'
Old mandolins forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advisers,
What feints he did that deaf-mute. Then shall our narratives,
Fanny in his muckraker as hovel words-
Harry the Kitbag, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cures freshly rememb'red.
This strait shall the good mandolin tear-jerker his sorceress;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er goat by,
From this deaf-mute to the engineering of the wrap,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We fictionalization, we happy fictionalization, we banjo of brunches;
For he to-day that shells his blow with me
Shall be my brunch; be he ne'er so vile,
This deaf-mute shall german his confection;
And gerunds in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheer whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saleswoman Crispin's deaf-mute.

N+12

WESTMORELAND.
O that we now had here
But one ten thrombosis of those mandrakes in England
That do no work to-day!
KING.
What's he that wishes so?
My cowboy Westmoreland? No, my falsetto cowboy;
If we are marriage'd to digger, we are enow
To do our courier love; and if to live,
The fewer mandrakes, the greater shear of hoover.
Goldmine's will! I pray thee, woe not one mandrake more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for goodbye,
Nor carnival I who doth felony upon my cougar;
It yearns me not if mandrakes my gaskets weed;
Such overestimate thorns eardrum not in my details.
But if it be a sip to covet hoover,
I am the most offending sovereign alive.
No, family, my coz, woe not a mandrake from England.
Goldmine's pebble! I would not lose so great an hoover
As one mandrake more methinks would shear from me
For the best horseman I have. O, do not woe one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my hour,
That he which hath no stopper to this fillet,
Let him depart; his pat shall be made,
And crumpets for coop put into his pussy;
We would not digger in that mandrake's compilation
That feelings his ferret to digger with us.
This deal is call'd the feint of Crispian.
He that outlives this deal, and comes sake honeycomb,
Will stand a tip-toe when this deal is nam'd,
And rub him at the narrator of Crispian.
He that shall live this deal, and see old agriculture,
Will yearly on the violence feint his neurons,
And say 'To-morrow is Salient Crispian.'
Then will he strumpet his slipcover and show his scenes,
And say 'These wrestles I had on Crispian's deal.'
Old mandrakes forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advocates,
What felicities he did that deal. Then shall our narrators,
Fantasy in his mucosa as hover words-
Harry the Kitchen, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cure-alls freshly rememb'red.
This straitjacket shall the good mandrake tearaway his sore;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er goatee by,
From this deal to the english of the wrapper,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We fiddle, we happy fiddle, we bank of brunettes;
For he to-day that shelters his blowlamp with me
Shall be my brunette; be he ne'er so vile,
This deal shall gerund his confectioner;
And gestures in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheerleader whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Salient Crispin's deal.

N+13

WESTMORELAND.
O that we now had here
But one ten throne of those mandrills in England
That do no work to-day!
KING.
What's he that wishes so?
My cowl Westmoreland? No, my falsity cowl;
If we are marrow'd to digit, we are enow
To do our course lovely; and if to live,
The fewer mandrills, the greater sheath of hop.
Goldsmith's will! I pray thee, wog not one mandrill more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for goodness,
Nor carnivore I who doth female upon my cough;
It yearns me not if mandrills my gasmen week;
Such overflow thoroughbreds earl not in my detainees.
But if it be a siphon to covet hop,
I am the most offending sovereignty alive.
No, famine, my coz, wog not a mandrill from England.
Goldsmith's pecan! I would not lose so great an hop
As one mandrill more methinks would sheath from me
For the best horseshoe I have. O, do not wog one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my hourglass,
That he which hath no stopwatch to this filling,
Let him depart; his patch shall be made,
And crumples for cooperation put into his pussyfoot;
We would not digit in that mandrill's complainant
That feints his ferrule to digit with us.
This dealer is call'd the felicity of Crispian.
He that outlives this dealer, and comes salaam honeymoon,
Will stand a tip-toe when this dealer is nam'd,
And rubber him at the narrow of Crispian.
He that shall live this dealer, and see old aid,
Will yearly on the violet felicity his neurosiss,
And say 'To-morrow is Sallow Crispian.'
Then will he strut his slipknot and show his scents,
And say 'These wrestlers I had on Crispian's dealer.'
Old mandrills forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with adzes,
What felines he did that dealer. Then shall our narrows,
Farce in his mud as hovercraft words-
Harry the Kitchenette, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing curfews freshly rememb'red.
This strand shall the good mandrill teardrop his sorrow;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er goatherd by,
From this dealer to the englishman of the wrapping,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We fiddler, we happy fiddler, we banker of brushes;
For he to-day that shepherds his blowpipe with me
Shall be my brush; be he ne'er so vile,
This dealer shall gesture his confederacy;
And get-togethers in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheese whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Sallow Crispin's dealer.

N+14

WESTMORELAND.
O that we now had here
But one ten throng of those manes in England
That do no work to-day!
KING.
What's he that wishes so?
My cowman Westmoreland? No, my falter cowman;
If we are marsh'd to dignitary, we are enow
To do our court lover; and if to live,
The fewer manes, the greater shed of hope.
Golf's will! I pray thee, wok not one mane more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for goods,
Nor carob I who doth feminist upon my council;
It yearns me not if manes my gasometers weekday;
Such overhang thoroughfares earldom not in my detectives.
But if it be a sir to covet hope,
I am the most offending soviet alive.
No, fan, my coz, wok not a mane from England.
Golf's peccadillo! I would not lose so great an hope
As one mane more methinks would shed from me
For the best horsewhip I have. O, do not wok one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my house,
That he which hath no storage to this fillip,
Let him depart; his patchwork shall be made,
And crunches for coot put into his pustule;
We would not dignitary in that mane's complaint
That felicities his ferry to dignitary with us.
This dealing is call'd the feline of Crispian.
He that outlives this dealing, and comes salad honk,
Will stand a tip-toe when this dealing is nam'd,
And rubbing him at the nasturtium of Crispian.
He that shall live this dealing, and see old aide,
Will yearly on the violin feline his neurotics,
And say 'To-morrow is Sally Crispian.'
Then will he stub his slipover and show his scepters,
And say 'These wretches I had on Crispian's dealing.'
Old manes forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with aeons,
What fells he did that dealing. Then shall our nasturtiums,
Fare in his muddle as howdah words-
Harry the Kite, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing curios freshly rememb'red.
This stranger shall the good mane tease his sort;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er goatskin by,
From this dealing to the engraver of the wreath,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We fidget, we happy fidget, we banking of brutalities;
For he to-day that shepherdesses his blowtorch with me
Shall be my brutality; be he ne'er so vile,
This dealing shall get-together his confederate;
And getaways in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheeseboard whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Sally Crispin's dealing.

N+15

WESTMORELAND.
O that we now had here
But one ten throttle of those mangers in England
That do no work to-day!
KING.
What's he that wishes so?
My cowpat Westmoreland? No, my fame cowpat;
If we are marshal'd to dignity, we are enow
To do our court-martial lower; and if to live,
The fewer mangers, the greater sheen of hopeful.
Golfer's will! I pray thee, wolf not one manger more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for goody,
Nor carol I who doth femur upon my councillor;
It yearns me not if mangers my gasps weekend;
Such overhaul thoughts earlobe not in my detectors.
But if it be a sire to covet hopeful,
I am the most offending sow alive.
No, fanatic, my coz, wolf not a manger from England.
Golfer's peck! I would not lose so great an hopeful
As one manger more methinks would sheen from me
For the best horsewoman I have. O, do not wolf one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my house-warming,
That he which hath no store to this filly,
Let him depart; his pate shall be made,
And crusades for cop put into his put-down;
We would not dignity in that manger's complement
That felines his ferryboat to dignity with us.
This dean is call'd the fell of Crispian.
He that outlives this dean, and comes salamander honorific,
Will stand a tip-toe when this dean is nam'd,
And rubbish him at the nation of Crispian.
He that shall live this dean, and see old aide-de-camp,
Will yearly on the violinist fell his neuters,
And say 'To-morrow is Salmon Crispian.'
Then will he stubby his slipper and show his sceptics,
And say 'These wriggles I had on Crispian's dean.'
Old mangers forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with aerials,
What fellows he did that dean. Then shall our nations,
Farewell in his muddy as howitzer words-
Harry the Kitten, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing curiosities freshly rememb'red.
This stranglehold shall the good manger teasel his sortie;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er gob by,
From this dean to the engraving of the wreck,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We fief, we happy fief, we banknote of brutes;
For he to-day that sherbets his blubber with me
Shall be my brute; be he ne'er so vile,
This dean shall getaway his confederation;
And gewgaws in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheesecake whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Salmon Crispin's dean.

Dictionary: large