Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip Are dug from the mines of canary; And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip With hogsheads of claret and sherry. You are my Sir Galahad, so faithful and true that it is a wonder you exist. Constantly sick with the croup or diaper rash. Not a moment is to be lost. The doctor had sown a seed, carelessly.
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