The ingle-nook ſupplies the ſimmer-fields, / An' aft as mony gleefu' maments yields.

Sampson by the way remarked that it would condoize well.

Serene thy Woe-adumbred Front, sweet Saint; / Let Ioy transluce thy Beauties blandishment

'You look gopping,' Cress said, glancing over at Tor - who was pale and black- eyed from last night's bottle of wine - as she rifled through her confection of rainbow-coloured chiffons and slinky slipper satins.