Here it is, and chorming too, in six by sevens! A cleanly line, by the gods! A king off duty and a jaw for ever! And what a cheery ripe outlook, good help me Deus v Deus! If I were to speak my ohole mouthful to arinam about it you should call me the ormuzd aliment in your midst of faime.
Eat ye up, heat ye up! sings the somun in the salm.
Butyrum et mel comedet ut sciat reprobare malum et eligere bonum.
This, of course, also explains why we were taught to play in the childhood: Der Haensli ist ern Butterbrot, mein Butterbrot! Und Koebi iss dein Schtinkenkot! Ja! Ja! Ja! This in fact, just to show you, is Caseous, the brutherscutch or puir tyron: a hole or two, the highstinks aforefelt and anygo prigging wurms.
Cheesugh! you complain.
And Hi Hi High must say you are not Hoa Hoa Hoally in the wrong! Thus we cannot escape our likes and mislikes, exiles or ambusheers, beggar and neighbour and -- this is where the dimeshow advertisers advance the temporal relief plea -- let us be tolerant of antipathies.
Nex quovis burro num fit mercaseus? I am not hereby giving my final endorsement to the learned ignorants of the Cusanus philosophism in which old Nicholas pegs it down that the smarter the spin of the top the sounder the span of the buttom (what the worthy old auberginiste ought to have meant was: the more stolidly immobile in space appears to me the bottom which is presented to use in time by the top primomobilisk &c.). And I shall be misunderstord if understood to give an unconditional sinequam to the heroicised furibouts of the Nolanus theory, or, at any rate, of that substrate of apart from hissheory where the Theophil swoors that on principial he was the pointing start of his odiose by comparison and that whiles eggs will fall cheapened all over the walled the Bure will be dear on the Brie.