"For nonn of your nockdurnal knocks I do not gare von rap!"
Bot—vile he yoked—ze lid fly off, and sblash into his cop,
[Business here.
And a kind of leedle voman's form inzide the jar sbring op!
Her face vas yust the golour of a meerschaum nod quide new,
And her hair vas all in ribbling vaves—like long-cut honnydew!
In golden silber she vas roped, all shpangled o'er mit shtars,
For it zeemed as eef she dress herzelf mit baper round zigars,
And like an eel his bagbone squirmed, his hair god up erect,
For beoples in tobaggo-jars is tings you ton't exbect!