II.ii
"Come, smooth of my slate, to the beat of my blush. With all these gelded ewes jilting about and the thrills and ills of laylock blossoms three's so much more plants than chants for cecilies that was thinking fairly killing times of putting an end to myself and my malady, when I remembered all your pupil-teacher's erringnesses in perfection class. You sh'undn't write you can't if you w'udn't pass for undevelopmented. This is the propper way to say that, Sr. If it's me chews to swallow all you saidn't you can eat my words for it as sure as there's a key in my kiss. Quick erit faciofacey. When we will conjugate together toloseher toaster tomiss while morrow fans amir hour, verbe de vie and verve to vie, with love ay loved have I on my back spine and does for ever. Your are me sever? Then rue. My intended, Jr, who I'm throne away on, (here he inst, my lipstick, a newfolly liken) when I slip through my pettifog I'll get my decree and take seidens when I'm not ploughed first by some Rolando the Lasso, and flaunt on the flimsyfilmsies for to grig my collage juniors who, though they flush fuchsia, are they octet and virginity in my shade but always my figurants. They may be yea of my year but they're nary nay of my day. Wait till spring has sprung in spickness and prigs beg in to pry they'll be plentyprime of housesits to pimp and pamper my. Impending marriage. Nature tells everybody about but I learned all the runes of the gamest game ever from my old nourse Asa. A most adventuring trot is her and she vicking well knowed them all heartsease and forwards. How Olive d'Oyly and Winnie Carr, bejupers, they reized the dressing of a salandmon and how a peeper coster and a salt sailor med a mustier poet atwaimen. It most have bean Mad Mullans planted him. Bina de Bisse and Trestrine von Terrefin. Sago sound, rite go round, kill kcal, kook kettle and (remember all should I forget to) bolt the throe. Auden. Wasn't it just divining that dog of a dagga in Skokholme as I sat astrid uppum their Drewitt's altar, as colledas as cucumber, slapping my straights till the sloping ruins, postillion, postallion, a swing a swank, with you offering me clouts of illscents and them horners stage-struck on the leasward! Don't be of red, you blanching munch! This isabella I'm on knows the ruelles of the rut and she don't fear andy mandy. So sing loud, sweet cheroot, like anegreon in heaven! the good forhter with the twinkling in his eye will always have caked in his pocket to bethroat us with for our allmichael good. Amum. Amum. And Amum again. For tough troth is stronger than fortuitous fiction and it's the surplice money, oh my young friend and ah me sweet creature, what buys the bed while wits borrows the clothes." (279).