Fore All Goode Boys Go To Heav'n, Theire Weyezing Snouts Point'd Skywwarde

Hitherto Restlest Soulles Weepn't At The Brayk Of Dawnne.

My Treajured Pette-Project: 'Twere Soil'd'nt.

Imackulate Difine Beast O' Mine;

Errn't.

Kidn't.

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Joshn't.